


Loud Silence

by D_OShae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 90,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D_OShae/pseuds/D_OShae
Summary: What happens after a person graduates for Hogwarts? Dennis Creevey departed to find out what the world held for him. However, he comes across a mystery and a silently suffering ghost at Hogwarts on the day he returns to make private farewells. Furthermore, his parents wonder what he is going to do with the rest of his life, and solving an old puzzle does not look like it will pay the bills. Added to this is the fact neither he nor his parents ever properly dealt with the death of his brother, Colin. The outside world seems more complicated than Dennis first imagines.[Technically a prequel to the Wizarding World War Z tales, but the story equally stands alone.]
Relationships: Dennis Creevey/Cameron Vall (OC), Dennis Creevey/Creevey Parents





	1. Chapter 1

The quiet in the castle seemed at odds with the day before. Solitary footsteps could be heard echoing in various locations. The stairs continued to shift around, a grating hissing sound, as if to confound students who already departed the school. The mutterings of Argus Filch, the caretaker, reverberated from an unknown spot along with Mrs. Norris' sometimes reply. Here and there a ghost swept through without making a single noise. Even the pictures lining the halls and stairwells seemed quiescent. Without the students, life appeared to slow to a crawl inside Hogwarts.

"Dennis?" Professor Flitwick asked with the name when he spied the young man sitting on the main foyer steps. 

Dennis glanced up. 

"I thought you left yesterday?" 

"I did," Dennis replied as his gray eyes studied the short professor. "But I apparated back this morning." 

"Does McGonagall know you're here?" The mixed-blood man inquired. 

Dennis nodded. He wore dark brown cargo shorts, something his father seemed to think he always needed, a gray tee-shirt bearing an American rock band logo, and black Keds trainers with white ankle socks. No one would ever mistake him for a wizard in the outside world. 

Professor Flitwick eyed him for a few moments, and then joined him for a sit. The two did not speak for several long seconds. The elder male sighed. 

"You did well, Dennis, and I'm proud of what you achieved. You were the best in my class from your year… and a top contender for best charms pupil since the war." 

Dennis flinched at the mention of The Battle of Hogwarts. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to remind you of… well, that," Professor Flitwick, dressed as usual in his oddly formal teaching attire. The man patted the younger one on the knee. "We all still feel it." 

"Sometimes… I wonder if it was worth it," Dennis quietly mused as he glanced around the empty stone corridors. It all seemed airier and lighter without the oppressive crush of young bodies fighting to get class as the castle did its level best to get in the way. The openness appealed to him as he thought of what it looked like following the battle. 

His former professor huffed and said: "Of course it was worth it! How can you say such a thing? Do you think it'd be any better if Vol… he was in charge?" 

Dennis gave the man a flinty gaze. 

"Yes, I know you suffered after the battle and these last few years. I know how much you miss Colin. Yet if the Dark Lord managed to win, any meaning to Colin's death would be lost," Professor Flitwick replied in a voice that grew softer with each word. "Do you know how I know your brother thought it was worth the sacrifice?" 

"How? I've been trying to figure it out ever since," Dennis spat the words with an anger and resentment that built over the preceding three years. 

"Because he's not here, Dennis. Colin isn't a ghost roaming the castle grounds. His death… there was purpose in how he fought and died. It means he went to his end satisfied he didn't do so in vain. It's a cold comfort, but there is truth to be found there." 

Dennis felt his eyebrows draw together. Of all the teachers in Hogwarts, Professor Flitwick became a mentor to him, despite being the Ravenclaw house master, following the war and the personal events in the succeeding years. The young man felt indebted to the diminutive man for the comforts and wisdom he offered, some of the only ones Dennis received from the living inside of Hogwarts. 

"I'm trying to understand that," Dennis admitted a few moments later. "It's hard… it… why didn't he bring me back with him? I would've fought… maybe could've saved him." 

"Or died trying, and then your parents would be deprived of both their children," the professor immediately countered, and his voice rang in the foyer. "You told me yourself Colin begged in his letter for you to stay home and stay safe and look after your parents. You have magic they don't." 

For three years Professor Flitwick reminded Dennis that he likely would be the last line of defense for his muggle parents in the event Voldemort won. The fact roiled Dennis because Colin did not stay home, but he also understood the lure of wanting to defend Hogwarts and defeat the Dark Lord. Coupled with his idolizing Harry Potter, in retrospect it seemed a given Colin would return to Hogwarts. Dennis ran his hand through his short-cropped strawberry-blonde hair. Old frustrations around unanswered questions continued to plague him. 

"You lived, Dennis, and I take joy in that fact. Your life wasn't easy here these last two years, but I enjoyed having you in class and… at least, I hope earned your friendship." 

"You did, professor," he answered with obvious emotion. 

"You are remarkable with charms, my boy, and don't forget that. You also earned a NEWT in transfiguration, so you're not without real talents. Besides, I would rather mourn the loss of your brother together with you than standing alone mourning the deaths of two of the most animated young wizards I ever met," the man finished in a solemn manner. 

"Thank you," Dennis whispered. 

The professor's words touched him. In the flurry of misery that came with the revelation of his sexuality near the end his fifth year at the school, Professor Flitwick became a stalwart defender and loyal friend. Dennis came to depend on it. As nearly all of his few friends and associates dropped away from him, the charms instructor never failed to offer a warm and welcoming environment. Time and again the tiny man counseled him. In some ways Dennis felt more like a Ravenclaw than he did a Gryffindor, although Professor Flitwick stated on multiple occasions the younger Creevey brother displayed characteristics exemplary of his school house. The man patted his leg again. 

"So, why are you here, Dennis? Most students can't wait to get away and be free before becoming nostalgic," Professor Flitwick asked in his customary direct fashion. 

"Still needed to say good-bye to a few… well, people. I think of them that way," Dennis rejoined. 

"Ah, the ghosts and paintings." 

Professor Flitwick proved he knew more about Dennis than Dennis thought possible. The younger male leaned to the side and threw a suspicious glance at his now former instructor. Professor Flitwick grinned. 

"Don't be so surprised. You used wording and motions not seen around here for at least a hundred years, and there could only be one source!" The possible half-goblin man regaled him. 

"That obvious?" 

"Only to the trained eye, my boy. Do you think you're the only who turned to the ghost and paintings for some tips?" 

"Um… yeah, I did," he admitted. 

"Ah, the arrogance of youth that they were first for everything," Professor Flitwick sarcastically responded and then chuckled. "I used to think the same thing when I was a student." 

"You went to the painting and the ghosts?" 

"Perhaps not as extensively as you… and neither did I pay as much attention as you did, Dennis, but I recognized the signs. Minerva also brought it to my attention, but I asked her to leave you to it. She seemed to regard it as cheating of sorts." 

"Why?" 

"Because you were learning from a source other than her," the professor said at much lower volume. "Professional jealousy and all that. She did confess you became a much better student." 

"Didn't have a lot else to do to be honest," Dennis conceded. 

"Perhaps it angers you now, yet did you ever think it may serve you better in long run?" 

Dennis simply raised his eyebrows. 

"Much of what you learned in a few short years here will take the others far longer to learn. I know you got treated unfairly, and perhaps your… demeanor did not suit others, but you got something that balanced it out. Do you see that?" Professor Flitwick queried. 

Dennis shook his head. 

"In time, Dennis, in time," the man said and patted the knee again. Then the professor stood. "I'll leave you to your good-byes, but please do stop by before you go. It'd be nice to have a cup of tea with you." 

"I will, Professor," the young man said with a nod of his head. "And thanks." 

Professor Flitwick gripped his shoulder with seemingly delicate, unusually long, and surprisingly strong fingers. The friendliness of the gesture could not be missed, even by one consumed with thoughts of the recent past. Dennis nodded at the man. Then he found himself alone in the castle once again. This time, however, it did not result from being ostracized. 

As the charms professor just did, Dennis rose to his feet and faced the stairs. He began to silently count in his head. Like at least half of the students who passed through the venerated school, the young man figured out the subtle mathematical formula that guided the movements of the stairs. It appeared random to the casual observer, but years spent trying to navigate the mobile treads revealed the truth. Thus, when the stairwells achieved a certain configuration, Dennis began to move. 

It took him five minutes to reached his destination: the very bottom of the massive stairwell. Light did not naturally penetrate that far down, and so Dennis held up his wand with the glowing tip. A clean white light spread outward. Above him the staircases continued their never-ending waltz. After the battle with Voldemort's forces, many of the staff focused on fixing the stairs first since it served as a central artery for the school. Thus, it seldom failed to surprise Dennis when he surveyed the underworld of that particular feature of the castle. The lower depths did not sustain any damage. Chunks of stone, rock, and other castle materials once sat strewn about, but it got cleaned by some unknown agent. 

The young man grinned as he eyed the collection of other refuse. Some of it, however, did not look to be old garbage littering the dirt floor beneath his feet. Dennis identified objects about which he heard others claim got stolen. Most pieces appeared maliciously deposited or unconsciously dropped. In the end, the articles became the private horde of one specific resident of the castle. Dennis gingerly picked his away among the detritus until he spied one bit that seemed unobtrusively out of place lying almost totally buried in the compacted, hard earth. Perhaps only two or three people alive knew what really lay at the bottom stairwell, and that number included Dennis. 

"Can't believe I'm going to say this, but… good-bye, my friend," he quietly stated as he stared at the small, white patch in the ground. 

"Thought you'd get gone and scampered without a farewell to me?" A somewhat hollow voice, a rather nasally one at that, whined from behind. 

Dennis turned and faced Peeves. 

Peeves the Poltergeist, bane to most who passed through the legendary halls within the last ten centuries, stood floating several feet above the floor. In all his time, Dennis never once saw Peeves set foot on the dirt in the base of the stairs. Against all likelihood, he smiled at the semi-transparent figure. 

"No, I came back to do just that," Dennis honestly told the ghost. 

"Odd one, you are, Weavy Creevey, and not because of all that boy to-do," the poltergeist stated in an odd mix of accents he accumulated over the centuries, much like his mismatched attire. 

"Even though you don't really deserve it, I want to say thanks for the help you gave me." 

"Don't deserve…! Ha! Methinks without me your life would've been all doom and gloom, and ye'd end your days as one of the haunts here in the castle!" 

The indignation in the poltergeist's voice arrived half-feigned and half-sincere. Peeves looked to throw a good snit, something in which he specialized and honed to a fine art. He began to rub his hands together, a gesture that typically inspired fear in others. It meant the irksome spirit planned mischief. 

"Do it, and I'll tell them what's down here," Dennis harmlessly threatened. 

"Ooh, nasty child! Thou wouldst not dare!" Peeves whined, fulfilling his role. 

"You know I wouldn't, Peeves. Just teasing." 

"Trickster! You're a vile and pernicious trickster!" 

"I learned it from you." 

Peeves began to cackle with mirth. He floated closer to the mortal young man. He physically seemed only a few years older, save for the fact Peeves spent just over a thousand years tormenting the students of Hogwarts. Rumor and truth stated the poltergeist came with the founding of the castle. In the thousand years since, barely two score people ever learned the cause of Peeves condition. Efforts to alleviate him of his state resulted in violent outbursts from him. A once petulant ghost became a poltergeist to preserve his rather unique status. Peeves, in short, enjoyed his unearthly state far more than anyone should. 

"But you are better at dueling with wands and you know your way with blades, Creevey the Snot," Peeves declared with what amounted to complete pride. 

"You threw objects at my head and told me to duck… and not usually in time," Dennis countered. 

"And your skills at ducking and goosing are second to none! I've managed nary a single hit on your pate this last year. My work with you sharpened the eyes in the back of your head and made quick your hand!" 

Dennis could not help the grin that crept along the length of his mouth. Peeves smirked as well. His dark eyes glittered. The poltergeist befriended him, albeit in Peeves' rather insulting manner, shortly after the start of Dennis' sixth year when the teenager looked for a place to sit in the dark and be miserable. Unfortunately, Peeves always took it as an opportunity to make the sufferer even more miserable. Yet somewhere along the line, the spirit took pity on the mortal youth. Dennis sometimes thought the specter could see his own sadness reflected in the living boy. Once he asked Peeves if he ever favored someone in life. Dennis got subjected to hours and hours of Peeves waxing poetic about a young lass he knew back in his mortal days, and the poltergeist would grow weepy as he spoke. He recited such horrifically bad poetry as to bring tears to Dennis’ eyes, but those of pain and not longing. 

"You know, I think I'm actually going to miss you, Peeves," the last remaining Creevey brother stated with only a modicum of hesitation. 

Peeves stared at him with unblinking eyes, a habit that regularly unnerved Dennis. 

"I don't know if you think or feel the same way, but… well, you’re my friend." 

"Art thou favoring me with thy affections in the dewy-eyed flush of thine youth?" The poltergeist rejoined in a mock coquettish fashion, and he began to coyly bat his eyelashes as he tilted his face downward. 

"And still a right git," Dennis mumbled. 

Peeves cackled with delight. 

"But I will say you offered me more sport than to which I have claim, cur," the spirit taunted. Then he grew solemn after few seconds. "I saw thee languishing, Creevey, and the wants to see your brother again… this I understood. Sometimes my days are long when I fail to beguile someone into becoming a plaything." 

At times Dennis struggled to understand Peeves' words since the poltergeist would make great jumps and shifts in syntax and vocabulary within in the same sentence. Sometimes Peeves would slip into his native tongue: an ancient form of Briton not actively spoken for over eight hundred years. The ghost used such tactics to further antagonize people, and often with remarkable success. However, it did not take Dennis long to realize Peeves sought some form of human interaction. It took some effort and a bit of time, but Dennis learned to ignore the worst of the poltergeist's antics. He earned Peeves' cooperation and a style of friendship for his efforts. 

"You helped me, Peeves, whether you meant to or not, and I'm grateful. I'll come visit you again when I get the chance," Dennis promised. 

"You are sweet on me!" Peeves howled and began to swim through the air in circles above Dennis' head. "Wilt thou now seek some time alone in the privy?" 

"Honestly, you just can't help it, can you?" 

"I am true to my ways!" 

Peeves then flew in so close his translucent nose hovered inches from Dennis'. 

"Mark me, Weavy Creevey. Do not lose thineself to benighted thoughts. You might take a trip and a tumble at an inopportune moment and find the course of your life… perhaps your afterlife, much changed," the ghost told him in a rather somber tone. 

"And you still want to remain here? You know what I could do for you?" The mortal young man offered. 

"Nay, and keep your mouth closed tight!" 

"I won't ever tell a soul, Peeves. This… it's your story to tell. Not mine. But if you ever decide you want out, let me know. I'll do whatever I can." 

Peeves floated back and assumed an uncharacteristically thoughtful expression before saying: "That is not the bend of my mind, as is known to you. Yet I'll take thee on thy offer for another. You know of Thomas Lester? The silent one?" 

"Yeah, we all do. Not a real talkative bloke, that one," Dennis confirmed. 

"Thou art a prat if thee hears only his silence. Get yourself to the upper reaches and find him. Make Thomas the same offer in my stead, and be patient as I have been with you, snotty boy," the poltergeist chastised and entreated him in equal measure. 

"You? Patient?" The living one laughed out the words. 

Peeves smirked. 

"But you're serious, right? About Silent Thom?" 

"I am. Whatever sadness you claim is but a mere trifle next to his… and I know not his full tale, yet I can feel it." 

Once again Peeves flipped through moods like Dennis' father changing television channels. As quickly as he became earnest, he returned to his needling demeanor. Dennis watched with a bit of amazement. He doubted few others ever saw the sedate side of the castle's chief, resident poltergeist. If anything proved Dennis formed a relationship of sorts with Peeves, then it got displayed in ghost revealing a staid aspect from time to time. 

"Off with thee, child. I've plans to make for those who will come in the fall. The headmistress and her cohorts are bedeviling me with their repairs to the castle. Blast that Riddle boy and good riddance to him!" Peeves huffed. 

Then he flew in an ever tightening spiral while ascending upward until he disappeared. Dennis watched him wink out of sight. He stood alone in the bowels of the grand stairwell, his wand shedding the only light. The young man turned and looked once again at the easily ignored spot of white in the dirt. It looked more a rock than anything else. However, Dennis knew it to be the top of Peeves' skull. The rest of his skeleton remain submerged beneath the dirt that accumulated over the centuries. Two years-worth of careful questioning yielded only the slimmest of facts. 

Peeves arrived as a laborer to help build the castle as basically a peon. He commanded little magic. The poltergeist took on the work when alive to earn some money to woo the woman he loved, and she considered him barely a step above a beggar. At some point during the final construction of stairwell, Peeves tripped and fell or perhaps got pushed. The ghost never clarified that detail. The fall killed him, and his body lay hid in the dark depths. Not a single person ever looked for him and his decaying corpse did not attract attention. Debris and dirt slowly covered his remains. According to Peeves' account, within three centuries no one would even recognize human bones lay there. Although he never gave away his full name, Dennis learned Peeves died sometime between his twenty-third and twenty-six years. Then the deceased man took up haunting the castle for over a thousand years. 

"It's mental, but I know I'm going to miss you," Dennis whispered to the hardly discernible small exposure of bone. 

It took a few minutes for Dennis' eyes to adjust once he reached the main foyer. Bright late spring sunlight streamed in through the high, arched windows. The front portal remained open to let in air and a greater degree of light. Spells got placed on all the entrances and windows of the castle to keep the insects and other less savory creatures at bay. Dennis aimed for the door. Once outside, his feet took him to the aqueduct bridge and to the southwest face of the castle. Old memories aided him, and the fact he and Silent Thom at times shared the prominence overlooking the lake. 

In life Thomas Lester seemed around thirty-years of age. He stood almost a head shorter than Dennis and appeared comfortably fleshed for a man who lived sometime during the mid to late eighteenth century. Long hair got tied back at the base of his neck and would look to be a light brown coloration. His eyes, too, hinted at brown irises. Thomas wore clothes of the period from his living days, yet the simple attire belied the apparent fine quality of the material. Because he spoke so very little, few facts regarding his life ever got revealed. It seemed to pain him each time Dennis attempted to make conversation with the ghost. It supported Peeves' assertion of the man's unhappy past. 

"Thomas?" Dennis quietly said the name as he approached the ghost following five minutes of walking. 

The man turned. Daylight tended to render ghosts nearly invisible, and Dennis could not make out the full set of the ghost's face. The living person halted a scant meter before the dead one. Dressed in a simple frock coat, an underlying vest, a plain cotton shirt cinched at the waist by knee-length britches, Thomas looked a common man. The quality of materials, however, told a different story. Even his leggings and shoes looked purchased for longevity rather than fashion. It gave him a rather homey appearance. 

"Peeves asked me to come and talk to you," Dennis began. 

"That one?" Thomas' quiet voice replied. 

"I made him an offer to help end his haunting, but I think he rather likes what he does now." 

Thomas nodded his head in agreement. 

"Then he said I should make the offer to you," the youngest Creevey stated and received a somewhat surprised reaction from the ghost. "We spent enough time out here together, and you never bothered me and seemed a decent bloke, so… well, is there something I can do to help you?" 

"I…" Thomas began and halted. His seeming solidity also increased and became easier to view. 

Dennis watched the spectral lips twitch and the transparent jaw muscles flex. Thomas looked away after a several seconds. He seemed both angry and sad. Dennis stepped closer. 

"I, um… don't mean to intrude, but… ah, Thomas, is there a reason why you don't talk?" Dennis tried to inquire in polite manner. 

Thomas' head swung around. A fierce gaze fixed on Dennis. Tension built in the silence. 

"Sorry, if I was rude…" 

Thomas held up his right hand as if to block the apology. He inhaled and exhaled, a completely unnecessary act for a spirit, yet it conveyed a sense of frustration. Dennis made note of it and decide to be more circumspect. He thought for a brief instant. 

"There's a reason why you can't talk to me, isn't there?" 

The ghost's eyes grew wide. 

"A spell? Curse? Something like that?" Dennis asked and made a logical leap. 

Thomas' eyes widened even more. 

"And you can't tell me a thing about it, can you?" 

Thomas began to slowly shake his head back and forth. 

"That's a right awful spell to put on a ghost," the living young man mumbled. 

The ghost nodded, but not as vigorously. 

Below them kingfishers and reed buntings squabbled amid the rocks and vegetation growing along the bottom of the rocky prominence. Their voices drifted upward. The giant squid rose to the surface, turned gracefully, and submerged again. Dennis smirked at the memory of when he first arrived at Hogwarts, fell out of the boat transporting him to the castle, and the gentle way the giant squid rescued him. It remained a highlight of his life at the school. The momentary distraction let his mind operate without interference. 

"Colin told me 'bout the basilisk that froze him and some other people and a ghost, but who'd want to curse a castle ghost?" He mused aloud. 

Thomas shook his head again. 

"What? Someone cursed you when you was alive?" 

"No," the ghost replied, and it appeared to take him quite a bit of effort. 

The living young man squinted his eyes against the sun overhead as he thought. 

"So, cursed as a ghost?" 

"No," Thomas answered. 

"Well, that doesn't make any bloody sense. You're cursed, but it didn't happen when you was alive and didn't happen to you as a ghost. So, when?" Dennis asked in frustration. 

Thomas' eyes bored into him. It appeared to be a plea. Dennis pushed aside his aggravation regarding the conundrum. A logical explanation existed, yet it eluded him. He stared at the ghost while the ghost continued to beseech him in silence. 

"You wasn't alive, but weren't dead either when it happened. What's in between that? Got to be…" 

He ended his musings. Pieces started to click into place. Not long before Professor Flitwick told Dennis his brother died without regret. Ghosts, poltergeists, and spirits often remained in the land of the living due to some unsatisfactory part of their life or death, except Professor Binns who merely ignored the inconvenience of death and continued with his teaching duties. The notion a condition lay between life and death flummoxed Dennis. He frowned. 

"The only thing that comes after life and before death is the dying part," he rumbled. 

Thomas nodded his head. Dennis' eyes popped wide open. It seemed unimaginable a person would curse a dying man. It marred both the life and the afterlife. He could scarcely conceive of what Dennis would do if someone cursed Colin while life ebbed from him. It seemed to violate the very nature of how magic should be used. 

"That's… by Merlin, horrible," Dennis quailed. "Why would anyone do that?" 

He watched as Thomas' mouth closed and sealed. The lips wiggled and the jaw fought the constriction, but Thomas could not speak. His body seemed to become frozen. Somebody silenced Thomas at the point between life and death. The horror of it astounded him. 

"You got murdered, didn't you?" The answer slipped out of his mouth before Dennis barely finished formulating the thought. 

The spectral head bobbed upward with a rather unwarranted look of pleasure. Dennis frowned, but Thomas still seemed pleased. After thinking about the reaction, it began to make sense. 

"Am I the first person who figured this out?" He inquired and tried to keep from sounding proud. 

"No," Thomas answered and disappointed the living young man. 

"Oh, right, but you can't say anything about it, so sort of dead end… er, sorry 'bout that last bit," Dennis remarked, recognized the poor choice of wording, and apologized. He ran his hand through his hair in discomfort. 

Thomas flashed him a wan expression. 

"Is it alright if I ask you some questions?" 

"Yes, please do," Thomas encouraged him, and his face rapidly shifted countenance. 

"What year did you get cursed?" 

Thomas' lips turned even more lifeless. 

"Right. Can't talk about that. Okay, then, what year did you die?" Dennis asked and tried to change tactics. 

The ghost remained motionless. 

"Shite. Fine, what year was you born?" 

"Seventeen-twenty-nine, in August," Thomas answered. 

"Okay, good. Good. Ah… how old were you when you died?" 

Thomas' mouth went rigid. 

"Can't say anything 'bout that," the living man grumbled. "Okay, then who's the last muggle monarch you remember?" 

"King George the Third. He was on the throne less than a year bef…" 

"Before you got killed." 

The incorporeal man struggled to nod his head. 

Dennis grew tired of standing, so he sat on the patch of scrub grass struggling to find purchase on the rock. Thomas glanced down at him. The two exchanged a look. 

"Look, maybe you don't get tired of standing, but I do. Take a seat, Thomas. This is probably going to take a while." 

"I prefer not to," the departed man intoned. 

"What? 'Fraid you're going to get your non-existent clothes mussed up?" 

Thomas looked away, but not before Dennis caught a sheepish smirk on the man's face. Dennis then chose to really study the ghost. He noted again the style of dress, and it conformed to the time period in which Thomas lived. However, the simple designs conflicted with the rich fabrics. A bunch of questions piled up in Dennis' head, yet sorting through the mess to find the pertinent ones bedeviled him. The clothes taunted this thinking. 

"Thomas, you're a wizard… were a wizard, right?" Dennis inquired. 

"I was," Thomas said and kept to his feet. 

"Did you go to school here?" 

"No, I received private training from tutors and my mother." 

"Oh, all fancy, huh? Come from money, did you?" 

Thomas' mouth became inflexible. Dennis sat upright. Somehow the man's privileged background played a role in his death and, ultimately, in the curse laid on him. An avenue of questioning opened up. However, Dennis needed to find an oblique route. 

"Were you a lord? Part of the peerage?" Dennis questioned. 

The dead man stayed motionless. 

"Right, any time you can't answer, I'm going to take that as a positive answer to my question. Does that sound workable?" 

"You are clever, Mister Creevey," Thomas replied. 

"Huh. You do know my name." 

"For some time now." 

"And, ah, do you know why I was coming out here?" Dennis inquired with some trepidation. 

"I do, but the cause is not mine to judge. I take no grievance and umbrage from your person should that thought trouble you. You provided me pleasant and agreeable company for a brief span, and for that I am grateful, Mister Creevey," Thomas quietly told him. 

"That may be the most I ever heard you speak, Mister Lester…" 

"That is not my surname." 

"Pardon?" Dennis said and glanced around. 

"Lester is not my surname… or last name if you prefer. Although it is not our practice, Mister Creevey, Lester is what many would call my baptismal name," the ghost of the man explained. 

"Hold on a second. Middle names have a purpose other than to give me mum something more to yell at me when I get into a spot of trouble?" 

Thomas actually grinned and said: "Might I recommend you tutor yourself in the ways and traditions of the people of these isles? It may prove of some value in time." 

"Bugger that. I've done more than my fair share of reading lately. It's all I've really done for the last two years," Dennis rejected the suggestion with a complaint. 

"Except those times you sought tutelage from the disembodied persons and portraits within the castle. Tell me, Mister Creevey, do you consider that time wasted?" 

Dennis shrugged and replied: "Not really. Got me NEWTS in charms and transfigurations. Got OWLs in the rest, so I guess I did alright." 

"Indeed, and what plans have you made to use those achievements now that your formal education has come to an end?" Thomas inquired. 

Dennis gave the ghost a blank look, much as he did when his parents asked the same question. He never thought about life outside of Hogwarts. Most of Dennis' private thinking centered on avoiding being harassed or teased. The post-battle personal defense training helped. His one brief foray into love ended in disaster and, for lack of a better term, a broken heart. Thus, the younger Creevey brother failed to consider aspirations and goals upon graduation from Hogwarts. However, he did know he never wanted to work for the Ministry given he would likely face many of his old tormentors. Hence, the future remained an extremely large empty canvas. 

"I see. This is a common affliction among your contemporaries. The present demands too much attention, the past easily forgotten, and the future ignored at your age. How, then, do you propose to support yourself in the coming years and decades?" The man, clearly an adult when he died, queried. 

"You do know we called you Silent Thom?" Dennis parried to avoid answering. 

"I am not certain of the relevance of your question, and that sobriquet seems rather spiteful." 

"Did you just call yourself ice cream?" 

Thomas rolled his eyes and huffed a little before saying: "That is sorbet, and it is not iced cream. A sobriquet is another word for nickname that usually highlights some aspect of the person. Do you understand now my silence got imposed upon me?" 

"Well, yeah, but it's the why I'm trying to sort out," Dennis rejoined. 

"And it is precisely that upon which I am not allowed to comment. Mister Creevey, do you realize that almost every other student I ever met seemed intent on discovering the cause of my… demise, and the malediction renders me incapable of that discourse?" 

"I do now… I think," the younger man intoned as he tried to dissect the statements. 

"You truly need to read a better class of book," the ghost wryly remarked. “However, are you familiar with the works of one Arthur Conan Doyle and Nibly Derge?” 

“Oh, sure. Love the Wipple and Derge stories. I’m from a muggle family, and my dad is keen on Sherlock Holmes. He loves the old Basil Rathbone movies.” 

“Excellent, then perhaps time remains for you to learn the art of deduction.” 

“Was that an insult?” Dennis inquired. 

“Only for the moment,” Thomas replied, but then he smirked again.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Dennis returned home much later in the evening, his brain felt stretched thin. He and Thomas continued their disjointed conversation for most of the afternoon as Dennis attempted to discern what happened to the man. The mortal young man resorted to retrieving ink, parchment, and a quill from Professor Flitwick, and then took copious but fragmented notes. Piecing together what happened to Thomas became a very tricky task since Thomas could not answer direct or indirect questions regarding his demise. Dennis ended his day at Hogwarts sipping tea with Professor Flitwick, eating a plate of biscuits, and trying to make sense of what Thomas requested. His former professor suggested Dennis make it summer project while deciding what he would do with himself in the fall. It seemed a reasonable idea to his tired mind.

"I was thinking, love," his mother said the next morning at the dining table, "seems to be a lot of work without much promise of pay. You could end up wasting your whole summer." 

"Yeah, I've been thinking 'bout that, too, Mum, but… can you imagine being stuck like Thomas is? He's been like that for almost two hundred and fifty years," Dennis countered as he munched on toast points and eggs. 

"But you only get a reward if you figure out what happened to him, and even your professor said it could be a long stretch to discovering the truth." 

Dennis sat and gazed at his mother. Since the death of his brother, she became highly protective over him. Sometimes it felt as if he looked into a magicked mirror since his face strongly resembled hers with the high cheekbones and forehead, wide eyes, and pointed chin. Dennis' eye, hair, and skin coloration came directly from father. Duncan and Jill Creevey seemed to equally contribute genetic material to both their living and deceased sons. He knew his parents saw Colin every time he looked at him. Dennis also saw his brother when he glanced in a mirror. Because of that, he looked at himself less frequently over the past three years. Everyone noted the uncanny resemblance between them and could see both parents in his face. The similarities, it seemed, ended there. 

Unlike their sons, the Creevey parents maintained a proper British reserve. Where Colin and Dennis attained their rambunctious natures seemed a mystery if one discounted his mother's completely wild older brother. Tales of their antics, and mostly those of two boys terribly excited by the new world in which they found themselves, circulated back to their parents. Although he grew more somber following Colin’s death and the increase in his personal troubles, Dennis never quite shed his freewheeling ways. He liked to run on his gut instinct. It ran him into trouble as often as not. At present his gut howled at him to chase down the facts about Thomas Lester. 

"But Professor Flitwick also said it was worthwhile. He said the search for justice and truth is never wrong, and Thomas got wronged, Mum," he politely argued. 

"You're a good lad for wanting to help, but… it just doesn't seem entirely productive, Dennis. Surely there's some career where you can earn a living and still use your magic, yes?" She challenged. 

"I suppose, but I don't want to go work for the Ministry. That's where everyone seems to land, and I don't want that." 

"Then what will you do? I don’t think you’re much in mind for going to a normal college or university. How would we even explain your transcript? Would you even qualify?" 

"I don't know, but I do know I want to do something good with my magic. I want to make something with it and not just run around quoting rules all the time," Dennis openly debated with himself. "I was thinking spending a little time trying to solve this for Thomas might get me out and about and let me see what else is going on. It's not like you, Dad, or me know a lot of magic folk… and the professors at school seemed to think we'd all go rushing off for the Ministry. Besides, I like the idea of helping someone with what I can do." 

Jill Creevey appeared distraught for a moment, but the expression vanished as quickly as it arrived. Dennis knew she thought constantly about Colin, as did he and his father. The loss of his brother deeply affected all of them. Dennis spent the rest of his time at Hogwarts feeling adrift, aside from everything else that happened. It seemed certain his older brother would know how to deal with the fallout from revelation of his sexuality. Not only did it happen at school, but at home as well. His parents eventually adjusted to the fact of their gay son, but it took many, many painful conversations over the course of a year. After they reached an accord, the remaining family members rarely discussed it. Dennis felt as though he needed to avoid bringing up the topic. Whenever they got close to the subject while talking, it made him giddy and nervous. Sometimes he would giggle inappropriately when his nerves got too tense. 

"Dennis," she sighed his name in a worried manner, "will you be in any danger?" 

"Mum, really? From what? Who's still be around from seventeen-sixty-one? This isn’t like trying to investigate what happened to Princess Di," he countered. 

"Ooh, be respectful, Dennis! I know there's no real royalty in your magical world, but here… here we still treat them with respect!" 

Dennis snickered while his mother smoothed down her blouse as a sign of her exasperation. Emphasis got placed on bloodlines sans titles in the world of witches and wizards. Fuzzy memories of Professor Binns discussing the last real magical royalty made it sound as if centuries passed since magic folk interacted with the crown or any of the muggle peerage. Only the occasional deranged witch or wizard, like Lord Voldemort, sought any sort of dominion over others. Magical folk tended to be an independent and unruly lot; the truth of which got bore out by the difficulties the Ministry of Magic faced when trying to keep everyone in line with the secrecy statutes. Most of the Ministry's work centered on attempts to control the repercussions of magical misdeeds. Dennis never quite understood how muggles managed to ignore witches and wizards when so much evidence surrounded them. 

"Yeah, Mum, all right," he agreed. "So, did Dad say anything last night after I went to bed or this morning before he went to work?" 

"He said you're an adult now and get to make up your own mind, and I told him that's a load of tosh," his mother responded. 

"Which part? Me being an adult or being able to make up mind own mind?" 

"I will not let you bait me into this argument again, Dennis. You might be a wizard and you might be eighteen-years old, but how much real world experience do you have… in either world?" 

"How about the part where I got slagged on for the last two years solid, Dad wouldn't talk to me for six months, and my school had to rebuild itself following a war? Did you forget most of my only friends were ghosts and paintings?" He bridled with his questions and felt his appetite vanish under a wave of simmering anger. 

"And who's fault is that?" The woman spat. 

"Hold on a sec! Are you saying me being gay is my fault and that I wanted everyone to treat me like shite?" 

"Language, Dennis. You associate with too many Irish or Scottish or whoever, and they taught you bad language," she upbraided him in a mildly and uniquely British form racism. "And, no, I'm not faulting you for being gay, but you and Colin built quite a reputation for being upstarts and obnoxious long before that came out. How did you think people were going to react when gay got added on top of it all?" 

"Still blaming me, Mum!" He half-yelled. 

"Watch your tone, young man. Wizard or not, I'll take switch to you if you keep that up," she warned her son. "And you're not taking responsibility for how you behaved at Hogwarts during those first few years. Dennis, you started off by falling out of a boat, and it only got worse from there." 

Dennis sat and fumed. His mother, in his estimation, failed to take into account the degree of astonishment and bewilderment both he and Colin experienced upon learning of their wizard status. It made them overly-excitable and insatiably curious. They went beyond accepting their new lot in life and absolutely reveled in it. Dennis collected every letter and picture Colin sent home for two years until he joined his brother at Hogwarts. Once reunited on a daily basis, the Creeveys fed into one another's excesses. As in the muggle world, Colin and Dennis shared an exceptionally tight bond as brothers and, for all intents and purposes, best friends. Dennis' anger gave way to the sense of crushing loneliness and sadness he experienced when he thought too deeply about Colin. 

"Dennis?" His mother inquired when the mood at the table shifted. 

"Yeah, right. Sorry I'm a wizard, sorry I'm gay, and sorry Colin got killed. Thanks for breakfast," he said and stood. 

"Dennis, I didn't mean it like that!" 

"Yes, Mum, you did," Dennis said as he walked away from the table toward his room. 

He heard his mother try to stifle a sob as he departed without a backward glance. Colin's death so altered the family dynamics as render it dysfunctional. His father came detest wizardry and blamed it for taking his eldest son from him. Dennis could not quite disagree on that point, except Colin violated his parents' wishes and went back to fight in the battle. Neither his father nor mother ever seemed to acknowledge that specific fact. When Dennis got outed at school and he told his parents the truth, his father looked defeated and as if he lost his second son. As he reminded his mother, Duncan Creevey literally did not speak to Dennis for six months. When he finally did say something, the man said he understood Dennis' sexuality could not be faulted on anyone in particular and that they would all need to learn to live with it. It seemed less than accepting to Dennis and rather out of step with the new millennium. 

Dennis went to his room and closed the door. After retrieving his notes from the day before, he began to read them over. He managed to puzzle out some of the story behind Thomas Lester with surname unknown. Thomas got murdered in 1761 at the age of thirty-one. Dennis managed to piece that together with the reference to King George III. Another wizard cursed him as he lay dying with the injunction to never speak of or openly reveal what happened on that fateful day. Moreover, Thomas got banished to Hogwarts as well by his murderer and, under the conditions of his curse, could not state his place of origin. However, the ghost managed to reveal he came from a well-to-do family, but not under which terms: muggle or wizard standards. Thus, armed only with a first name and a date of birth, Dennis could not imagine how he would track down information regarding the man. 

He flopped back on his bed, stared at the ceiling, and sighed: “I’ve got to get to a library.” 

The Creeveys lived on the southern side of St. Alban’s in southeast portion in The Camp district. Their house sat close to Highfield Park Drive as it made it easier for his father to commute to Highfield Farms where he helped with milk collection and delivery. Every Tuesday and Thursday Duncan Creevey drove a milk truck delivering fresh milk to homes around southern St. Alban’s or the big hauler to the cheese factories. In their early years at Hogwarts, the other students found it fascinating to listen to their stories of growing up in a muggle household, like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger did. However, they did not suffer the same treatment as Harry and neither did they live in the same luxury as Hermione. The Creevey boys came from a rural suburban, lower middle-class life. They did not know want, but the family remained very conscious of money due to his father’s somewhat meager income supplemented by their mother’s part-time work. Only the graciousness of the wizarding community offering to pay for Colin and Dennis’ education allowed them to attend Hogwarts. 

That he lived outside of St. Alban’s gave Colin an added push to master apparating and disapparating. He tried to extend his range as far as he could. Within six months of gaining permission to translocate via magic, Colin could reach the southside of London without suffering too much apparation sickness. He worried constantly about splinching himself, so he always made certain to clearly focus on his destination and to forcefully execute the spell. Practice, time, and want honed his skill. In his seventh year at Hogwarts, he found he could apparate the third farthest of all the students. Some wondered at his ability, thinking him a liar, but one of his three remaining living friends testified to the truth of his apparating skill. For the first time ever, Dennis drew jealous stares from his fellow students. 

“Best go to the Ministry first and see what I can find out there. Maybe they’ll have a list of magical libraries,” he pondered aloud. 

Ten minutes later he filled a small backpack with ink, parchment, quills, and his notes. Dennis also dipped into his small stash of muggle money. Growing up in a muggle family allowed him to smoothly navigate between the two worlds with neither side the wiser. He planned on eating somewhere in London, and several ideas no normal wizard would entertain popped into his head. Another issue entered his mind. His mother already expressed disapproval about investigating the mystery surrounding Thomas Lester, so he concocted a more palatable story. Thus, brimming with ideas and supplies in his backpack, he left his room. 

“Mum?” He quietly called to his mother who sat at the dining table reading a newspaper. 

“Yes?” She replied without glancing at him. 

“I’m heading over to the Ministry of Magic.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“Well, if I’m gonna find work in the magic world, I think that might be the best place to start. They may have leads or adverts or someone I can talk to,” he smoothly devised a scheme for her benefit. 

Jill Creevey’s head swiveled to the side, and she stared intently at her son. Dennis prepared for the scrutiny and remained composed. He again dressed in normal shorts, a tee-shirt, socks, and his favorite trainers. His thin, wiry frame made him look a few years younger, but Dennis knew he could take care of himself. Two years of a semi-hostile school environment made him ready. 

“Will you be back for dinner?” She asked, and her question indicated she believed him. 

“Yeah, I think so. I’ll grab lunch in London down in Picadilly…” 

“Ooh,” his mother squealed and interrupted him. “Remember that Greek bakery over on New Bond Street? Mind picking up a few loaves of that sweet Easter bread they make.” 

“Sure, I can do that,” Dennis answered and held out his hand. 

“They can’t be that expensive, Dennis.” 

“I only got a fiver to spend, and that’s only going to get me a cheap lunch. If I get the bread, I’ll have to eat it for lunch.” 

“Don’t you dare! Hold on.” 

Minutes later his mother deposited a ten Euro note into his hand. Dennis looked at it in a greedy fashion. His mother tapped him on the shoulder. 

"Three loaves, and you can keep the change," she informed him. "If the loaves are smooshed, you're paying me back. Any questions?" 

"No, Mum… and thanks. I'll be careful," he responded. 

"Don't forget they close around four or five, so you'd best get them right after you have lunch." 

"Yes, Mum." 

At that point he would agree to just about any condition she set. Scheming did not come easy to Dennis, and he could feel his nerves begin to stretch the longer his mother delayed. However, she seemed satisfied he would do as requested and returned to the dining table. Dennis quickly walked to the middle of the parlor. He waved at his mother once, she smiled at him, and then he began to apparition process. 

Dennis thought very clearly about the arrival bay in the Ministry of Magic. Numerous control spells hovered in the area to make certain people did not apparate atop one another and become conjoined. Then Dennis began the conjuration by holding the image in his head and mentally reciting the spell. Magical energies began to swirl in his body. The young man unleashed the stored magic, and his body folded in on itself. It took him no longer than three seconds to complete process that would cause him to feel as if he turned inside out. It also felt like he got stuffed into and pulled through a piece of rubber hose while an errant child twisted it into a knot. Seconds later he arrived in the Ministry. Dennis slightly wobbled. 

"Alright, boy get going so others can arrive!" One of the arrival bay attendants snarled at him. The man looked as surly as a mountain troll. 

Dennis stepped off the small riser made of dark green marble and strolled toward directory kiosk. A witch sat inside looking as bored as the bay attendant appeared cantankerous. The youngest Creevey visited the Ministry only a few times in the past, and usually accompanied by one of the Hogwarts staff. The place seemed daunting and large, except that people scurried by with a sense of purpose and without fear. A few nodded in greeting to him when he looked their way. Dennis glanced around with amazement. He recalled the photos in The Daily Prophet showing a heavily damaged Ministry after the fall of Voldemort and the battles between aurors and Deatheaters. The Ministry looked fresh and whole. It took a second before he refocused on directory. 

"Um, division of labor?" He hesitantly asked the directory board while pressing the tip of his wand to it. 

"Internal, external, or Community Services?" It replied in a calm, very Oxfordian female voice. 

"I'm looking for work," Dennis flatly stated. 

"If you are seeking employment with the Ministry of Magic, please go to the Sentient Creature Resources. If you are looking for assistance with employment searches, please go to the Office of Community Resources and Services." 

The board then lit up showing the floor and room number of each division. Dennis performed the remembering charm so his wand would be able to recall the destinations. However, he adamantly did not want to work for the Ministry of Magic, so he began to make his way toward the lifts. Foot traffic ebbed and flowed with mostly silent concentration. A few people chatted as they strolled along, but most appeared to be on business. Dennis aimed for one of the farther lifts and got inside. 

"Floor?" A house elf grumbled. 

"Five, please. Community Resources," Dennis answered. 

Other people entered and requested their floors as well. Dennis slowly got shoved toward the back of the surprisingly large lift interior. It easily offered more than twice the space of a muggle version. Ministry lifts also went forward and backward as well as up and down. Within the magical community, everyone knew Roald Dahl stole the Wonkavator idea from the Ministry of Magic. As a public entity, however, the Ministry could not sue Dahl for infringement or prosecute the man for violation of the secrecy statutes since he offered the work as fiction. 

"Hold on," the elf rumbled as he flipped levers. "Oh, there's a heard of black sheep on the fifth floor. Some farmer brought them in while he attends a hearing. Heard their floor is… quite messy right now." 

Dennis glanced down at his trainers while several other occupants chuckled. Although not new by any stretch of the imagination, he still did not want sheep dung covering them. Thus, he took the elf's warning to heart. Sheets of paper of various colors folded into a simple yet functional paper airplanes floated above their heads. Dennis heard the story from Professor Sinistra of how the Ministry formerly employed owls, but the mess became overwhelming as the Ministry expanded in size. An employee won a handsome prize for developing the spell that folded paper into planes and sent them flying to their destination. Dennis admired simple yet functional charms like that. It made people's lives easier without being flashy or intrusive. 

"Fifth floor!" The elf grunted when the lift came to quick, shuddering halt. 

Dennis excused himself and people got out of his way. He stopped just after stepping over the threshold of the lift and gaped in disgust at the floor. Sheep droppings lay everywhere he looked, and he saw more than few puddles of urine. It also smelled. Moreover, Dennis could hear the herd somewhere in the distance. He began to carefully pick a path through the feces minefield as he went in search of the Office of Community Resources and Services. 

An hour and half later Dennis gingerly returned to the lift. The herd stampeded through an intersecting hallway while a farmer attempted to corral them. The semi-ginger-haired young man chuckled. 

"You should get a trained pig!" He called after the farmer. 

"Fack off, ya gob!" The man shot back. 

Against all odds, Dennis left the resources office with a job. While speaking with a resource witch, he found an offer in one of the listing books from a sludger. The man paid twenty galleons a week for a single day or two of work. Dennis read the advert over and over. The witch then explained exactly what work a sludger performed. The details proved wholly disgusting and nauseating, but Dennis saw the immediate advantage of working with a person who contained and hauled away all manner of waste, including magicked materials. Dennis got to use the office Wiz-Viz Tuner to speak with the man who went into excessive detail about the expected work. Dennis heard terms he did not understand, and clarifications only made his stomach threaten to revolt. However, the amount of pay and limited amount of work fit perfectly with his nascent plans. He accepted the position, got the address and apparating visuals, arrival times, and departed the office. Furthermore, Dennis learned the Ministry contained an extensive library he could use, so it seemed luck favored him when he decided to go to the Ministry. 

Another few hours passed wherein Dennis found himself surrounded by a tower of books. It felt like a particularly grumpy team of house elves took turns with a meat tenderizer hammering his brain. He sat back and stretched and stared at the vaulted ceiling high overhead. 

"Dennis?" A familiar voice said. 

Dennis swung his head and looked for the source. Three seats down from him he saw a face as familiar as the voice. Fortunately, he did not dread a chance meeting with that person. 

"Hi, Laura. What are you doing here?" He in his normal voice when he spotted her. 

"I was about to ask you the same thing," she returned with a smile. "Never took you as a library person." 

"One of the hazards of sharing a house with Hermione Granger." 

They both snickered at the reference. Laura Madley got sorted into Hufflepuff during their first year. Aside from fitting the Hufflepuff characteristics to a tee, Laura also proved to be kind. She never teased Dennis while in school. They never interacted much outside of classes, but Dennis always found her pleasant. 

"That's a lot of books. What are studying?" Laura asked as she stood a little to peer at the assembled tomes. 

"Eighteenth century wizarding bloodlines. I'm doing some research for Silent Thom," he freely admitted. 

"Silent Thom? Why?" She inquired. 

"That's just it: the silent part. Why is he so silent? What happened to him? Ever notice how he just stands on the cliffs of Hogwarts and looks out over the lake like he's trying to find something?" Dennis rhetorically asked. 

"You always did get on well with the ghosts at school. Are you doing this as a favor for him?" 

He nodded. 

"People got you wrong, Dennis. Used to make me mad the way Pritchard, Quirke, and Peakes treated you. Wasn't right and wasn't fair. You never hurt a soul," his former schoolmate stated in a heated fashion. 

"Thanks, Laura. That means a lot to me," Dennis politely told her, except he wondered why she did not step forward to defend him during their school days. 

"If they would've left you and Ackerly alone, you two might've been happy." 

Dennis winced at the mention of Stewart Ackerly. After Dennis got outed, a few other students did as well. Most used him as a flame shield to take the heat. Stewart came in search of him just after they returned from holidays in their sixth year. For two months they grew very close and enjoyed a warm, even loving, relationship. Dennis fell very much in love with Stewart. It all came crashing down when several of their classmates discovered the true depth of their relationship and began to treat Stewart as they did Dennis. It drove Stewart away, and he abruptly ended their affair after nine glorious weeks. It left Dennis somewhat heartbroken and even more alone. The Ravenclaws supported their own. The Gryffindors failed to look after Dennis. In some respects, Dennis' mother correctly pointed out his past influencing his future in that regard. 

"Yeah, Stew," he sighed. 

"Oh, Dennis! I'm sorry…" 

"No, it's okay. It's in the past. I'm over it," he lied to spare her feelings. 

They sat in awkward silence for half a minute and looked everywhere else but at each other. While pretty in her own way, Dennis knew Laura never seriously dated anyone at school. Despite the randy subcurrent that ran through sixth and seventh years, the young woman resisted it. It became apparent to Dennis he needed to break the sudden chill. He sat upright in his chair. 

"What are you researching?" Dennis asked her. 

"Just a school in Canada. They offer post-secondary education. My parents want me to go there, so I am finding out what it's like," Laura explained. 

"So, you know you're going?" 

She nodded. 

"Huh, college of magic. How'd you find out about it?" 

From there they chatted about what Laura would do come the fall. She inquired about Dennis' plans, and he honestly admitted he did not know. He also explained how he did not want to work for Ministry, and he got an odd look from his former schoolmate. It did not take long to explain that he would likely run into several of his former tormentors. Laura agreed. 

"So… this whole Silent Thom thing?" She asked again. 

"Something to do. Gets me out and about. Never traveled much after we started at Hogwarts, and this seemed like a good way to go about it," he told her part of his real plan. 

"That's makes sense. Decent idea, Dennis. And wouldn't it be nice if you could help him? It always seemed to me the ghosts live a sad life at the castle. After a while all they got is each other. You'd think it'd get dull and boring after a while." 

"'Cept for Peeves. He loves being a poltergeist!" 

All around the rather enormous library people bent to their various tasks, and no one seemed bothered by their conversation. It felt very different to Dennis to speak to a classmate with the knowledge they no longer shared a similar experience. They would head off in different directions and lead very different lives. While they only truly shared Hogwarts between them, it gave Dennis a forlorn feeling knowing he would not return to a familiar environment, even though he desperately wanted to escape the place not even two weeks before. The chat between Laura and him quickly became halting as they ran out of topics to discuss. 

"Dennis?" Laura said his name and hinted at another question to follow. 

"Hmm?" Dennis rejoined. 

"Will you let me know what you end up doing for Silent Thom?" His former schoolmate requested. "I mean, I know there's no reason for you to give me an update…" 

"Yeah, I can do that," he interjected. "Where would I send the message?" 

"Depends on when you send it. Do you have a Wiz-Viz?" 

"Not yet. Got a job for the summer, so maybe I can afford to get one in a couple of weeks. My parents wouldn't even know how to find one even if I told them everything." 

Laura gave him a confuse look. 

"My folks are muggle, remember?" 

Laura shook her head and said: "That's right. I always forget you and your brother came from a muggle family. Hogwarts must've seemed really weird to you at first." 

"Why do you think we act like such twits half the time?" 

Laura grinned at this response. 

"It's true," he offered. 

"Can I tell you something about how people viewed you two?" She requested, and Dennis nodded. "People were kind of jealous of you and Colin. It was all so new to both of you, and everything made you so excited. For the rest of us… it was just more of the same. We were jealous 'cause we didn't have the same sense of excitement." 

Dennis sat up even straighter and leaned closer to Laura as he said: "How can you not love magic every second of every day? How can it ever be more of the same? It's magic, Laura, and not everyone gets to use it. Look at all the muggles. I get to face my parents every day now and we all realize I have something they never will. Isn't that worth getting excited about all the time?" 

Laura sat back in her chair with a sigh. She gazed at him. The long, highly polished wooden table stood between them. The softly glowing lights, and not electric ones, reflected from the surface. No muggle library ever looked like that, especially as paper airplanes flew silently through the air without aid of a single breeze. People dressed in a wide assortment of clothes ranging from the Victorian era to modern day lent the cavernous room an additional other-worldly quality. Dennis could see Laura did not notice any of it. 

"I think that's why I'm going to Canada to study. It won't be like Hogwarts at all. Maybe I'll get to experience what you and Colin did every single day," she informed him. 

A thought struck Dennis that went straight to the core. It caused him to stiffen as he considered the ramifications of the Creevey history with magic. He eyed Laura, and she returned the look. 

"A lot of people died fighting Voldemort for a lot of different reasons. Colin… my brother died defending something he really, really loved. I miss him every day, Laura, 'cause I don’t have anyone to share that… wonder with anymore. He was my best friend," Dennis spoke as two tears slid down his face. 

"We all knew that. Even the Patil sisters or the Merchant twins weren't as close as you and Colin. People were jealous about that, too. That first year back after the war, it was so hard to look at you, Dennis. When people found out you're gay, it gave them something else to focus on instead of all the pain you suffered." 

"That is fucked up," Dennis ground the words through his teeth. 

"It is, but… not an excuse, but children don't know how to deal with something that intense," she agreed and tried to excuse despite her protestation otherwise. 

"Try living it." 

"We all lost someone we cared about. You know that, right?" 

"Then it makes what you told me even worse. I didn't get any sympathy. I got ignored 'til I got outed. How is that even fair?" 

Laura looked away from him. 

“Listen,” Dennis said after a minute of silence. “I don’t want to get into old fights I don’t really care about anymore. I… I guess I need to move on from a lot of it. That’s why I won’t work for the Ministry. It’s why I’m trying to help Thomas. I need something positive. You know?” 

“Yes, I do, Dennis. I think that’s maybe why I’m going to Canada. Something different… exciting… away from all… this past stuff. I’m tired of everyone still talking about the war. It’s like they don’t want stop fighting it,” she answered him. 

“’Cause they’re afraid Voldemort might be alive. He fooled ‘em before.” 

“Do you think he’s dead?” 

“Yeah. Too many people saw him die. His followers fell apart pretty fast. He’s gone. I’m certain of that.” 

It seemed a coda for their conversation. It dwindled following Dennis’ pronouncement. Fifteen minutes later Laura packed up her belongings and said she needed to go check out some of the books. Dennis nodded and smiled at her. While Laura walked away with several heavy tomes, he wondered if he would ever see Laura Madley ever again. Dennis doubted it. Then his eyes returned to his own books. 

“Okay,” he said to a large volume containing a listing of notable and pure-blood families during the seventeenth and eighteen centuries. He touched the tip of his wand to the cover of the book. “Right. Dinumero Thomas!” 

A good eighth of the book pages began to shine. 

“That many, huh? Narrow the parameters like Professor Flitwick used to say. Alright. Um… pernumero Thomas!” 

The number 347 hovered briefly over the tip of his want. 

In the middle of his fifth year, Dennis started taking his Latin lessons with greater seriousness. Words mattered when practicing the craft, and Latin aided in the potency of the craft. He came to understand magic flowed in a two specific veins: common magic people made up on the spot, and high magic that got passed down from seeming time immemorial. Common magic tended to be weaker and very idiosyncratic to the caster. High magic required a concerted effort and practice. As a result, the spells tended to be far more powerful. Other types of magic existed, such as the variety employed by centaurs, goblins, and house elves. Racially based magic could not be learned outside of the race. Several branches of high magic only humans could access, and part of the reason lay in the languages of the human species. At the moment, Dennis walked a tricky line between the common and the high. He employed high magic methods to achieve somewhat common objectives. 

“Pernumero Thomas Lester!” He incanted. 

The number 26 floated in the air above his wand tip for about seven seconds before disappearing. 

Dennis nodded and said: “Better, but where are the names in this book?” 

He grabbed a quill and a scrap of paper. After dipping the nib in ink, the young man plied his mind to the problem. Dennis wanted a more permanent spell since what he desired might be useful in the future. As taught by all his instructors that included ghosts and paintings of people, he began to parse his problem. He needed to not only locate specific references, but he also wanted to quickly access the pages. Memory of a scrying spell returned to him. Of all teachers who touched on the subject, Professor Trelawny turned out to be the expert at scrying. It seemed to be one the few types of magic she could command with accurate and real results. Dennis wracked his brain to remember the syntax of the spell and the wand motion. He then began to scribble on the scrap of paper. 

“Simple and direct. Simple and direct,” Dennis repeatedly muttered as he sketched out the somatic and verbal elements. “Intent. Simple and direct with intent.” 

Ten minutes later Dennis examined his progress. It surprised him when, on review, the spell appeared competent. It seemed his original effort needed tweaking. He added two words and charted the wand movements to aid in concentration and focusing the magical forces at his command. It seemed longer than necessary, but he could not concoct a shorter version. Dennis also rated the level of force he would need to apply, and scored it as a two on a scale of ten. Too much force and he feared setting the book aflame. Memories of Séamus Finnigan’s uncanny ability to set anything alight, even causing items to explode, served as a warning. Dennis felt confident it would take a lot more force to get his spell to ignite an object. 

The tip of his wand hung above the book cover. He then started to make a spiral motion while lifting his wand upward. Dennis chanted: “Illuminare page pernumero Thomas Lester!” 

Not only did a twinkling list of the names hover in the air, including page numbers, but the pages also glowed inside the book. Dennis uttered the duplication spell every witch and wizard learned in their first year at school. The list appeared on a square of parchment he made ready. A small sense of accomplishment washed over him. 

“Magic is the best,” he happily mumbled. 

Unfortunately for him, Dennis could not think of a spell that would deposit the knowledge found in the book into his head. Legend at Hogwarts spoke of student who tried to create and master just such a spell. The tale said it ended in disaster and complete insanity for the student who suddenly found all she or he could remember came straight from the book the person wanted to memorize. The spell apparently overrode all previous memories. The loss of all the personal memories, only to be replaced by the narrative of a book, drove the student mad. Whether apocryphal or true, the story served to highlight several key concepts of magic. First and foremost, untrained experiments could and would lead to insanity and quite possibly death. The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler often ran stories of witches and wizards who came to a lurid end because of unsafe experimentation. Thus, Dennis remembered to respect his craft and to avoid reaching too far beyond his current limits. 

“Time to read,” Dennis muttered in a less happy manner. 

Dennis first did a survey of the surnames attached to Thomas Lester. The list got winnowed to nine specific lines: three of whom belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight, two that continued to present day of which both included muggle nobility, two that got diluted to muggle status, and two lines that went extinct. Dennis hauled out his notes from the conversation with Thomas. Nothing he said or could answer indicated he belonged to a pure-blood family, and pure-bloods never failed to mention their status. It left him with six possibilities. Given the near three-hundred and fifty name instances of Thomas Lester he originally encountered, Dennis felt rather pleased he managed to whittle the number to a very manageable number. 

A rumbling stomach altered the working conditions. Hunger assailed Dennis, and he gave into the need. Moreover, he read as much from his first source book as would likely yield information. His research became further narrowed to two families that both reported the loss of a male heir in the 1760s, both of whom carried the name Thomas Lester North. Moreover, the families looked to be cousins by blood, marriage, and both. The name became an honorific for both sides. Unfortunately, Dennis could not locate specific dates of when the two male heirs died, and the dates of birth appeared estimated. Both seemed uncharacteristically mysterious, but still in keeping with magical histories. 

"Food," Dennis huffed while closing the tome before him. 

Dennis felt guilty for not putting the books back on the shelves, but magical libraries operated differently from the muggle counterparts. Most of the permanent reference books that remained in the library at all times got fitted with a self-shelving spell. Should a book remain untouched for over an hour, it would rise and return to its holding shelf. Books to be loaned did not receive the spell. Dennis heard from Madam Pince, the Hogwarts librarian, that windows in homes got broken by the insistence of books trying to shelve themselves. Dennis only used permanent reference materials, so he left the books sitting on the table as he packed his equipment and notes before heading out. 

Downtown London always excited Dennis long before he learned of his wizard status. Part of him loved the manic push and rush of the people as they went about their business. He departed the Ministry through the disguised exit, and got his bearings. The sound of autos and lorries rumbling along the streets mixed with music played from speakers and countless voices of people. The wild cacophony became the echoing heartbeat of a city alive and well. Dennis found it further entertaining because most everyone he passed did not know a wizard walked among them. The secret thrill built in him until he nearly started to jog down the streets. He heard many magical folk complain in the past about the secrecy statutes, but Dennis privately loved it. On the rare occasion when he spotted one of his kind, it made him feel like a spy on a mission. It never dawned on him his early life as a supposed muggle shaped his frame of reference. 

After purchasing three loaves of bread as requested by his mother, Dennis head back to Piccadilly Circus to find lunch. He recalled the smell of a red curry dish from earlier, and he wended his way toward it. The Indian established announced itself with aromas of biryani, butter chicken, masala, and, of course, curry. Dennis drifted inside the neat, small restaurant. A quick glance at the menu board told him his mother did him an enormous favor by letting him keep the change from the bread purchase. He got seated at a small table and began ordering without once looking at the menu. The waitress smirked as she nodded during his recitation. She promised him tea within minutes and his lunch in only a few more. Dennis sat happy with the results of his day. 

"Thomas Lester North or Thomas Lester North," Dennis mumbled in consternation around his naan and curry fifteen minutes later. "Does he look like he comes from Essex or the East Midlands? Hard to say what he sounded like. Couldn't tell his accent." 

All of his notes did little to settle the matter. Dennis tried to ask Thomas from whence he hailed, but the curse kept him from divulging the information. Several attempts to get around the impediment did not result in any success. It took some time to even find out Thomas originated nowhere near Hogwarts. The fact he stood and faced the southeast on the castle premonitory did not help since both the East Midland and Essex lay southeast of Hogwarts. 

"I wonder if the bloke who snuffed him did something to the records," Dennis speculated before shoveling another heap of curry and rise on naan into his mouth. 

While chewing Dennis realized he assumed a man killed Thomas Lester. As with all other information surrounding Thomas' death, the ghost could not supply specifics regarding exactly when he got killed, how he got killed, who killed him, where he got killed or buried, (although Thomas indirectly said his banishment to Hogwarts precluded that fact), the curse that banished him, or any other detail to aid in piecing together the crime. Then, the most important question erupted in Dennis' head: why did someone kill Thomas Lester? 

"Wait a second," he whispered after swallowing. "What if Thomas is the bad guy in all of this? What if he deserved what happened to him?" 

The notion became troubling. Dennis started to understand he needed to step back and take a neutral view of the issue. He could not act under the assumption Thomas needed to be avenged. Dennis needed to find out the truth before he enacted any other plan. 


	3. Chapter 3

Before he even cracked open a single book, Dennis debated on whether he should feel bad about misleading his parents. He did not, however, directly lie to them. In fact, he let make their own assumptions and chose not to correct his parents. Despite that nibbling away at the back of his brain, Dennis spent a very pleasant morning with his parents.

“Well, I’m still stunned you found a job, Dennis,” his father said, and he dressed for a day of deliveries. His shirt bore the dairy logo and ranked among the cleanest in the man’s collection. “Jobs are hard to come by right now.” 

“Dad, it’s a magical job in garbage collection. Don’t think there was a line of people beating down the door to get to it. Mr. Odpadki sound relieved someone called and accepted the job,” Dennis truthfully informed them. 

“Are you dressed right for it?” His mother asked while eyeing his shorts, tee-shirt, and trainers. 

Dennis already shoveled a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, so he reached back and pulled out his wand. He waggled it a little. His parents always suffered a strange reaction when he or Colin showed them their wands. They seemed to think of the sticks as toys. Seeing their faces, Dennis swallowed his food, pointed the wanted at a stack of magazines, and concentrated. 

“Wingardium leviosa,” he incanted with an adept swish and flick of his wand. 

The magazines floated into the air. Dennis commanded them to move about the room. His parents watched wide-eyed. Their son did not often display his abilities, but they did occasionally need a reminder they gave life to not just one, but two wizards. Dennis set the magazine down in their original location and mentally canceled the spell. 

“Well, at least your hands won’t get dirty,” his father commented first. “That’s a right handy little bit of magic there. Denny. Next time you’re helping me clean the attic, shed, and crawlspace!” 

Duncan Creevey sported strawberry-blonde hair, sallow skin, a patchwork of freckles on his permanently tanned cheeks and nose, and blue-gray eyes. He carried a heavier build than either of his sons, along with a broader and flatter face. If Dennis stood between his parents, it became clear what each contributed to their son. Dennis rolled his eyes at his father and smirked. 

“I’m glad you don’t show off with all that,” his mother commented. “I know how you enjoy it, but it could frighten people, Dennis.” 

“That’s why there’s all those secrecy statutes. I don’t get in trouble for showing you or dad ‘cause… well, ‘cause you’re you and dad. My parents. Might get into a bit of spot if I showed Grandma and Grandpa or Gran and Dadders,” he explained yet again. 

“Don’t you dare go flashing that in front of them. It’d scare the life out of all of them! They don’t have enough years left in them to accept an explanation,” Jill Creevey warned her son. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Dennis did know, but he did not understand. It took all his willpower and constant series of reminders during his first two years at Hogwarts to keep his wand in a pocket. For the first two summers, his parents forced him to relinquish wand, and Dennis resented it. During the third summer he flat-out refused to give it up, and he and Colin explained to his parents asking a witch or wizard for their wand formed a horrible breach of etiquette. Being deprived of his wand made Dennis feel naked and extremely vulnerable, and he told them that as well. Magic scared muggles. Yet, it did not make sense. Aside from the occasional dark or rogue magic user, witches and wizards never harmed muggles. Moreover, it seemed a common practice for the magical to lend secret aid. Once free of age restriction, Dennis felt free to keep muggles from coming to harm. Hence, he did not understand the fear surrounding his abilities. 

“I’m not saying what you can do is wrong, Dennis…” 

“But normal… I am normal. I am normal wizard, so I guess muggles just don’t get it,” he rumbled. 

He caught his father giving him a stern look. Dennis met it with a cool one of his own. He never forgot his father’s general dislike of magic because it robbed him of a son. 

“Telling me I can’t use magic is only going to drive me away,” Dennis continued. “I already starting thinking about where I might live, and it’ll probably be in a magical community. I heard there’s village up in Hitch Wood I can look into.” 

His mother took a stuttering breath. 

“This is who I am. You’ve known it since I was eleven… and two years before that you found out about Colin. It’s never going to bloody change. I’m always going to be a wizard. I love magic, and you know that, too,” he stated in a calmer voice than he thought possible. 

“That’s not what we’re saying, Denny,” his father stated in a flat voice. 

“Isn’t it?” 

His father looked away. 

“I know it didn’t help when you found out I was gay, but… well, that’s the way I am, too. I can’t change either part of me, and I don’t want to. There’s nothing wrong with me being gay or a wizard. Either you accept both those facts or just let me go.” 

“We’re trying, Denny,” Duncan Creevey said after he whipped his head around. “After that… war…” 

“I didn’t kill Colin, and neither did magic when you think about it!” Dennis blurted. 

His father appeared affronted. 

“How many times do I got to tell you it’s no different than if some ruddy soldier shot him dead in the Falklands. Would you hold all the Argentinians respons… all the Hispanics responsible?” 

“It wasn’t a bullet, Denny,” the man said in a tight voice. 

“It’s the same difference, Dad. It almost doesn’t matter what killed him… he’s still dead. It took a person to kill him,” Dennis said, and whispered the last part as tears welled in his eyes and rolled over the edges of the lids. 

“Dennis,” his mother softly spoke his name. 

“I loved him, too! He was my best mate, Mum, ‘sides being my brother. We did everything together at school. After… without him… nothing seems special anymore,” Dennis wept the words. He turned to his father who also wore wet cheeks. “Every time you blame magic for Colin’s death, you blame me. You’re calling something that’s part of me evil… dark… something I love almost as much as I loved him. It’s like you hate me for being what I am!” 

“I don’t hate you, son,” his father said in a voice grown rough with emotion. “I’m scared to death for you.” 

“Why?” Dennis begged. 

The elder Creevey male leaned forward, wrapped a calloused hand around his boy’s wrist, and said: “Because both of you are… were so fearless. It never scared you. Maybe you were too young… I don’t know, Denny, but when you found out what you are… you… a fire got lit in you. Same with Colin. There was nothing your mother and I could do for you, either of you. You landed in a world where we couldn’t help.” 

Dennis felt his mouth slowly fall open. He could not remember the last time his father spoke so honestly and open to him. The blue-gray eyes never left the gray ones. 

“Sometimes it feels like we lost you as much as we lost Colin…” 

“Dad!” 

“Here me out, Denny,” his father implored more than commanded. “Your magic… is something we’ll never be able to fully understand. Sometimes it's like a bleeding wall you mother and I can’t get around or over… it separates you from us… no matter how hard we try to reach you.” 

A new set of inconceivable circumstances opened before the youngest Creevey. He could not fathom the fact his parents felt separated from him because of magic. Never once did Dennis consider it an impediment to the relationship with the two people sitting at the table with him. He always assumed they reveled in his magic as much as he until the ugly Voldemort war. 

“Wasn’t ‘til you told us you’re gay that it began to make sense. Gay we can handle. All people face the same chance of turning out gay. It was just a matter of saying, okay, fine, he’s likes blokes, but magic… wizardry? Wasn’t ‘til Colin told us witches and wizards existed in our family up ‘til three hundred years ago that it… well, it helped explained part of you two. Some.” 

“Then Colin died in the battle,” Dennis concluded for him. 

“A magic battle,” his mother almost needlessly added. “We begged him to stay home safe with you. We knew this Voldy… mort guy was cracked cup and bad all the way ‘round. He wouldn’t listen. He loved the magic too much… like you do, Dennis.” 

“And you’re afraid it’s going to get me killed?” 

His parents nodded. Dennis knew better than to bring up the fact that, aside from old age, a fair number of witches and wizards accidentally killed themselves with magic. Not as a form of suicide, but because the insatiable curiosity over magic proved too alluring and compelling. Dennis could sense his desire to experiment grow exponentially after crafting a spell the day before. Magic invited exploration. 

“Look, son, we both have to go to work,” his father stated without releasing Dennis’ arm. “Maybe… perhaps we finally need to seriously talk about all this. What it means to us… as a family. I don’t like it one bit to hear something might be driving you away from us.” 

Dennis nodded. His father made promises in the past that they would talk, but most of those talks never materialized. However, if he based his prediction on the countenance of his father, he would place odds on a future conversation taking place. His father then stood after releasing his arm. As he walked around his son, another magical event happened. Duncan Creevey leaned down and kissed the top of his son’s head. 

“Don’t ever forget I love you, Denny,” the man said in a distant and rough voice. 

“Love you, too, Dad,” Dennis replied in the same manner. 

Mother and son sat in silence until the man departed. Dennis glanced at his mother. She continued to stare across the room at the front door. 

“Mum?” He asked with her name. 

“We were so afraid you were going to get killed,” she said without any preamble. “We feared losing you like we lost Colin. Never dreamed we’d lose you ‘cause of what we feared.” 

Then she looked at him with a sad, worn expression. Her hazel eyes appeared darker than ever. For a little over three years Colin’s death made the house feel cramped whenever Dennis went home. It began to make more sense to him. In a flash of real insight, Dennis admitted he did not know what it would be like to be a parent and especially after the death of a child. He knew what it meant to lose a beloved brother and a best friend. Somehow, the two types of pain seemed remote from one another. 

“Get going with yourself, Dennis. You don’t want to make your new boss angry on the first day,” she said in her mothering way. 

“Love you, Mum,” he told her. 

“You’re a good boy there now, aren’t you? You mean the world to me, Dennis.” 

Her response made his chest grow tight. The last fifteen minutes of his life felt distinctly different from the previous three years, and even from the time since he first attended Hogwarts. They did need to talk as a family, Dennis concluded as he stood. He smiled at his mother, but she looked through him to some point he could not see. He walked to the middle of the living room. Dennis then folded into himself a few seconds later after visualizing his destination. 

The Ministry of Magic seemed as busy as ever. The line of Flue Network portals vomited bodies every three seconds. The apparating platforms, as well as the disapparting platforms, hissed and popped with regularity. Dennis stood to one side while his apparation wobbles subsided and watched the throng of witches, wizards, and the occasional squib, going to and fro. It all appeared dizzying and yet purposeful at the same. The young man went to the security check point to register his wand and aimed for the lifts. It felt good avoiding the information kiosk since he knew where to go. 

“Bullocks!” Dennis half-shouted almost an hour later and got severely shushed by several people as a result. 

He discovered magical and muggle bloodlines crisscrossed all over England and the world. Despite the subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle hints some considered crossbreeding distasteful, it happened with regularity. Dennis recalled Séamus Finnigan resulted from a muggle-witch pairing. Séamus always struck him as someone who possessed a lot more unruly magic than anyone suspected. A person could not set a porcelain tea seat afire without a significant source of magic. It puzzled him. Yet what Dennis read regarding the two Thomas Lesters in question made him furious. 

“Thomas Lester North, born twelve August seventeen-twenty-nine, died unknown,” he read aloud from one page in the book of magical peerage, and then Dennis continued from another page: “Thomas Lester North, born, thirty August seventeen-twenty-nine, died unknown but assumed between seventy-sixty to seventy-sixty-three. Come on! Someone's having a go at me!” 

“Young man,” a woman’s voice shot toward him. “Please keep your voice… oh, Dennis? Dennis Creevey?” 

“What? Who?” Dennis burbled as he angrily tore himself away from the page he read. 

A slender woman with fairly bushy hair and a bright, wide smile approached him. She dressed in a smart skirt suit with a mid-thigh length robe draped over it and uncommonly practical navy-blue trainers. Dennis wondered if single witches hung around libraries looking for wizards not gone soft in the head from too much quidditch. Before he looked at the woman’s face, he noticed a small gold ring set with a ley-azzurrite stone on her left ring finger. It gleamed and twinkled as local stray magic coruscated around the gem, and it impressed Dennis very much. When he glanced up, he got a second surprise. 

“My word, it is you!” Hermione Granger gasped at him. “How are you, Dennis? You’re finished at Hogwarts now, right?” 

Students from Hogwarts came from many sources, but three seemed most prevalent. First, students from pure-blood families who tended to act rather superior. Second, students from normal wizarding families who formed the great mass of attendees. Third, students from a muggle background who often arrived bewildered and confused. Hermione Granger, like the Creevey brothers, sprang from a pure muggle family. Since roughly twenty percent of all witches and wizards claimed a similar lineage, it seemed ridiculous to make being muggle-born an issue, but people did. Some magical families, mostly pure-blood, refused to interact with muggle-born or half-muggles and deemed them a stain on magical kind. Half the wizarding world did not care. All that mattered to them centered on the quality of the magic possessed and wielded. Finally, a fraction of magical folk looked at muggle-born with intense curiosity and seemed to want to make study of them. Hermione Granger came from pure muggle background, and she became the best spell caster in her year and routinely got counted among one of the best witches or wizards to ever graduate from Hogwarts. 

Dennis did not care about that. Hermione always treated both he and Colin with extraordinary kindness regardless of their behavior. They also understood one another on an intrinsic level since they shared a similar background. Hermione went on to prove her value and worth in being instrumental in the downfall of Lord Voldemort. She continued to count Harry Potter as one of her closest friends, and gossip claimed he remained romantically involved with Ronald Weasley. He wondered if the ring on her finger indicated it went a step further. 

“I’m good, Hermione. You? How’ve you been getting on these past couple of years?” Dennis politely replied with some real interest. 

“Well, I’m here working for the Minister’s office. It’s good work, and I like it. It means I get to look after the welfare of everyone,” she said in a purely Hermione manner as she parked one buttock on the edge of the reading table. The woman carried three thick volumes in her arms. 

“And the ring?” 

“Oh, well, Ron proposed. I said yes. We’re looking at next spring to get married. Ron got into a bit of a huff when Harry proposed to Ginny first. I’m sure you remember Harry and Ginny became an item, and Harry works in the Auror's Office.” 

“That’s in the history books, Hermione. Everything you three did got recorded.” 

Hermione blushed. 

“No, don’t go doing that,” he chided her. “It’s not everyone who gets to say they had a firm hand in taking down Voldemort.” 

“It took a lot of people to end his mad schemes. Many people made tremendous sacrifices to preserve our freedoms, and your family name is counted among them,” she said with solid confidence. 

Dennis nodded and hid the stinging feeling in his chest. Then the young woman leaned over and glanced at his work. Hermione and books seemed to go hand-in-hand, and her sudden shift in interest did not surprise him one iota. She hummed for ten seconds as she read over the pages. 

“You know we’re trying to end the peerage system in magical world. Never heard so many pure-bloods scream bloody murder,” Hermione commented as she sat up. “Why are you researching this?” 

“A favor to Silent Thom. I’m trying to unravel his past. Seems he got snuffed and cursed by somebody back in the day. He can’t talk about what happened to him, and his ghost got banished to Hogwarts. Peeves thought it might be a good idea if I gave it a go for Thomas,” he honestly replied, and felt good about telling the truth to someone since Dennis felt he deceived his parents. 

“How very kind of you, Dennis. I heard you got on with Peeves for the last couple of years. Amazed more than a few people, I’ll tell you that. Say, you, um… well, wouldn’t happen to know anything about Peeves? The Department of Mysteries is always keen on poltergeists, and Peeves’ has a record.” 

Dennis simply remained silent and stared at her. 

“Ah, I see.” the woman mumbled after a few seconds. 

“Not my story to tell, Hermione. I’d think you of all people would appreciate that.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, and I was just being a busybody. You’re absolutely right, but you must admit Peeves is fascinating,” she apologized, and then reverted back to form. 

“Not as fascinating as Silent Thom. Got a second for me to show you something?” Dennis inquired and looked forward to tapping into the famed brilliance of the woman. 

“Of course,” Hermione gamely agreed. 

Ten minutes later she sat in a chair next to him, her books nearly forgotten, and stared at his notes. Dennis gave her a concise summary of what he knew, and how it led to his current conundrum. She pushed her abundant hair around while listening. It came as an utter shock to him when Hermione appeared completely stumped. 

“How… well, this is more than odd. It’s improbable, Dennis, is what is. Two men, born within weeks of one another, sharing both a name and family ties. This is a pixie knot in troll hands!” She exclaimed, and Dennis made note no one shushed her. 

“Yes, it’s weird, but how do I figure out which one is him?” 

Hermione continued to look flummoxed and said: “After almost two hundred and fifty years? I’d say you’ll have to go to where each man lived and do research there. You’re going to need to find living family members and see if they have any records. If the peerage books are uncertain, I’d hazard a guess not much information remains. I’m impressed, Dennis: you happened onto a proper mystery here!” 

“Um, thanks, I guess,” he said with a shrug. 

She smiled at him. 

“What?” Dennis inquired when the woman did not elaborate on the expression. 

“Oh, it’s silly of me, but I was just picturing you as a first year sitting on the Sorting Hat stool, still damp, and… I never saw such pure happiness in anyone. The way you kept glancing at the Gryffindor table and your brother. No one doubted for a second why you got sorted into Gryffindor after we heard about you falling into the lake. You can try to hide it if you want, but I still see that boy in you. Hold onto it, Dennis. I know your life didn’t quite follow a normal path, but the best ones seldom do.” 

Dennis felt himself choke up a little as she spoke. It seemed a lifetime ago when he first arrived at Hogwarts, and she correctly called him out for his brimming excitement and exuberance during those first days. The school turned out better than he imagined. Dennis imagined quite a bit based on two-year's worth of letters and pictures from Colin. Now, nearly eight years later, Hermione Granger once more proved her generosity and kindness. She spoke with genuine warmth, and it touched the younger man. 

“I’ve got to get back to my office, but please do stop by and tell me when you’ve got Silent Thom all sorted out,” Hermione stated as she bent to retrieve the volumes she set aside. “I’m thinking Silent Thom did well in your offer to help him. You’re resourceful and persistent, Dennis, and got far more energy than just about anyone I know.” 

“Thanks,” Dennis croaked out the word and smiled at her. 

“I’ll give Ron and Harry your greetings,” she offered. 

“Yeah, do that. Ron could be a prat at times…” 

“No kidding! He caught her sly grin and added: “Harry was always nice to me and Colin. He talked to me for a while when my parents and me came to see Colin after he got frozen by the basilisk. He promised me it would all work out.” 

“And it did,” Hermione quietly commented. 

“Then, after the battle… when we came to get Colin…” 

Dennis quit talking. Hermione gave him a few moments of silence to collect his thoughts. Once more, she proved exceedingly generous. 

“Harry always said you were the hardest to talk to after the fight. He couldn’t imagine what you went through. Ron had his family to help him cope with Fred’s death. Harry said watching you was more like what he saw George going through.” 

The young man nodded. 

“Dennis, not sure how you’re going to take this, but… I still miss Colin. We lost something truly special that day. It seemed impossible so much life could exist in one person. He was magic, Dennis. Truly magic,” Hermione gently assured him. 

Tears streaked down Dennis’ face, yet he looked at her and grinned. Many people at Hogwarts gave him lukewarm and simple condolences. Hermione alone said she missed Colin, and then she went a step further in quantifying a part of him. She seemed to honestly understand. His gratitude could not be expressed with words, and he hoped someday he would be able to properly thank her. 

“I’ll leave you to your research. It’s important.” 

He nodded again. Hermione walked away from the table. After five steps she turned and faced him again. Dennis raised his eyebrows in question. 

“I mean this, Dennis: stop by my office anytime you want. If you ever need anything from the Ministry, come and see me first. And I meant it when I said I want to know what you find out about Silent Thom. Okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks,” he said through a tight throat and with a thick voice. 

She smiled at him, bobbed her head once, and spun about on one heel. Dennis watched her disappear into the vastness of the Ministry library. She left him with many intangible gifts that day, the greatest of which came in her fond remembrances of Colin and her elevation of him to hero status. It made Dennis feel less alone and as if his older brother hovered nearby. Following several silent minutes of contemplation, Dennis returned to the reason that brought him to the ministry in the first place. 

The last surviving Creevey brother learned little else except where he might find relatives for the Thomas Lester Norths. One family resided in a small homestead in the East Midlands and the other in grander setting in Essex: Norths existed both north and south of London. Regardless, it would take Dennis two separate trips, if not more, in order to speak with the families. Moreover, he needed to craft an introduction so neither family thought him absolutely mental. First things first, Dennis decided he would not tell either family he spoke to their long-deceased relative. He would save that once he got confirmation, if any could be found, regarding where the Thomas Lester he knew fit into either family. 

Before heading home later in the afternoon, Dennis spent half an hour trouncing through some garbage in the alleys behind Sackville Street. He wanted to arrive with a smell about him his parents would, despite the oddity of it, appreciate. A sense of guilt built in Dennis when he considered the level of deception he began to plumb in order to continue his investigations into Silent Thom's demise. The desire to see it through wormed its way very deeply into him. 

Dennis and his parents did talk again that evening, but the experience did not live up to the expectation. His father returned to the house in a surly mood following a rough day making deliveries. Between the customers and the traffic, it made his job difficult. Secondly, his mother lost track while cooking the supper, and it came out not entirely palatable. Then, during the meal, they asked about Dennis' day at his new job, and he concocted a story about needing to learn new spells to deal with the waste they collected. The casual mention of magic regarding activity as mundane as garbage collection drew annoyed glances from his parents. It did not set a good stage for further conversation. He never got the chance to share what Hermione said to him. In the end, their family talk did not provide any comfort. 

The situation did not improve the following morning. Dennis got dressed much as he did the day before. His mother again questioned the wisdom of his attire. His father said he hoped Dennis worked hard and earned his pay. After the elder Creevey male departed, Dennis retrieved his backpack, reviewed the location and pictures for the apparition point, and went to the living room. His mother busied herself with her own preparation since she worked a part-time job three days a week. Dennis disapparated without any further conversation. 

"Dennis Crevy?" A stout man asked when Dennis appeared next to a seemingly abandoned building on the western side of the River Colne in Uxbridge. 

"Mister Odpadki?" Dennis replied as he strolled forward and held out his hand. "And it's pronounced Creevey… long ee on both sides of the v." 

"Right, right," Mr. Odpadki said while accepting the hand with a bone crushing squeeze. "Checked your references with Ministry and at Hogwarts, and got word you're a deft hand with spells. Charms at least, but that's a good start." 

Dennis nodded and hoped he would not yelp in pain from the handshake. Although the man stood at least two inches shorter, he appeared at least twice as wide and perhaps three time Dennis' weight without looking overly obese. Dennis notice Mr. Odpadki carried biceps bigger around than his thighs. His new employer gave the same impression of solidity as did Rubeus Hagrid. The semi-bald head and beard stubble added to the rough-and-ready impression. After releasing his hand, an appendage Dennis feared he would not be able to properly use for several days, Mr. Odpadki turned and walked toward a small-sized boxed lorry that seemed as muggle as any he ever saw. 

"May not look like much," his new overseer said without a backward glance, "but I s'pose you could set off a good size bomb in her hold and she'd not take an ounce of damage. Been tarted up with a spell here and there." 

The dual wheels on the back axle indicated it could handle quite a load. Following his father around the dairy and going on the occasional milk run as a child gave Dennis a passing familiarity with lorries and trucks. 

"Diesel or standard petrol?" Dennis inquired when the stopped next to the banged up heavy-duty vehicle painted with the company name in several locations. 

"Oh, know a thing or two 'bout motors?" Mr. Odpadki asked when he spun around rather gracefully. 

"Mum and Dad are muggles, and Dad works for Highfield Farms. He does all sorts of deliveries, and I'd go with him from time to time, so this is nothing new to me." 

"Now that will come in right handy!" 

Dennis waited for an explanation with a nod. 

"Some folk I took on hardly ever saw one 'fore up close, let alone took rides in a lorry. Scared the life of 'em, it did. Some'd quit after the first go. The work isn't all that hard, but tricky… and dealing with Kate here – I calls her Kate since she's as study as me Mum was and 'bout tempered as her, too." 

Dennis smirked at the comparison. 

"But just as reliable. Mark me, son, she'll outlive any muggle contraption what with I put into her," Mr. Odpadki stated with evident pride. 

"She looks sound," Dennis agreed. 

"Trust on that!" 

The man then looked him over. Dennis felt the scrutiny. He stood still as it seemed he required. 

"What you coming in at? Forty-two… forty ‘cross the chest and eighty-two on the waist?" The man suddenly inquired. 

"Um, close. Forty-four chest and eighty-four waist," he offered the correct dimensions. 

His new employer frowned a bit and replied: "Kind of slight, but you look like you can handle your own. Any problems lifting or bending?" 

"No, sir," Dennis replied, and he hid the insult he felt at being labeled slight. 

"Scare easy, do you?" 

He and the man stood eyeing one another while traffic zipped past on Saint John's Road. The ambient electrical field oozing out of the Ivers Substation, as the sign stated, tingled on the periphery of Dennis' senses. It all started to make sense. Mr. Odpadki tested him on many levels. However, Dennis felt he held an ace up his sleeve. 

"Well, the sound of cars and that electric buzz don't bother me any," he began. "And don't forget I was at Hogwarts during the whole Voldemort…" 

Mr. Odpadki flinched at the name. It seemed some people did not dispel old habits as easily as others. The dropping of the name also appeared to work in his favor. 

"He's well and truly dead, Mister Odpadki. Harry killed him… and gave Voldemort what he had coming to him. My brother died in the battle," Dennis flatly laid out the facts. 

"Right," the burly man said with a small shake of his head. "I reckon what with you coming from muggle stock and living through that, not much you're going to see on our rounds that'll get to you. Got some coveralls for you. I think my missus can size 'em up for you since your mum can't." 

Dennis let the second insult pass. Witches and wizards tended toward casual elitism when it came to dealing with the non-magical. They often viewed muggles as less capable despite the overwhelming evidence muggles ruled over the world and presented a real threat to magical kind. Back in his childhood, their father took Colin and him out on a pheasant hunting trip. They got shown the power of firearms. Given what got broadcast on the television regarding the wars between muggles, Dennis knew the wizarding world would get exterminated in next to no time regardless of some of the powerful witches and wizards. 

"Thanks," Dennis muttered after three seconds. 

Mr. Odpadki opened the door of the cab and reached inside. He retrieved a dented and scratched aluminium document case. He flipped open the lid and produced a small sheaf of paper. The man motioned for Dennis to walk to him. 

"Right. See here? We've got five special collections today if we can get to them all. Mostly we'll be driving from one spot to another, and I can explain how we work," Mr. Odpadki bluntly stated. "I'll be honest, this load here in Stains Moor got me a little worried. We'll go for it first. Set it up that way so you get a good feel for what you're getting into." 

"What's auto… no mouse radiant resin?" Dennis asked and got a chuckle from the man. 

"Autonomous radiant resin is what some craftsman use who make toys and whatnot. This fella here makes them knee-high puppets what can move and dance on their own…" 

"Yeah, we had some of those come through Hogsmeade every spring carnival. Thought it was just a locomotor spell that made them go." 

"Could be, but this stuff here keeps 'em going without having to constantly wave a wand around. They make varnishes or shellacs… or paints from it. From what I know, they can lay a whole performance on a puppet coated with it, but… well, when we come in to get the cast off, and it's not always friendly like," Mr. Odpadki told him and his voice dropped down. "Let it go too long, and it gets downright mean." 

Dennis raised his eyebrows. 

"Tell you what, we'll discuss it as we head on down. I'm curious to hear what ideas you might come up with to deal with it. Got some tricks I used in the past, but never hurts to hear what other people think." 

Following a nod and a shrug, Dennis got instructed to climb into the passenger side while Mr. Odpadki walked around to the driver side. The lorry rumbled to life a few moments later, and it became quite obvious to Dennis the man tinkered with the engine. It did not sound entirely like a normal muggle motor. It growled in fashion that would likely worry his father. Mr. Odpadki, however, seemed pleased as he slipped the machine into first gear. Dennis could hear the tires biting into the gravel that formed the skirt of the road. Mr. Odpadki turned onto Saint John's Road and aimed for the M25. 

After twenty-five minutes of being ferried to Stains Moor, and Dennis privately confessed Mr. Odpadki really knew how to manage traffic, they then turned on what looked like a utility road. Mr. Odpadki did not stop to remove the chain hanging between two posts barring their way. They passed through it. Dennis realized someone placed a very well-crafted glamour spell to deceive the casual observer. When they turned left, the lorry entered a cul-du-sac with three houses huddled together at the roundabout. It counted as the smallest magical village Dennis ever saw, not that he saw very many. 

"See there? The yellow place with the shed out back? That's where we're going," Mr. Odpadki pointed out. He seemed very familiar with the place. "You'll see the pit out there." 

Dennis did see the pit when the pulled up alongside the house, and it scared him. He sat in the lorry staring in horror at the multi-colored gelatinous blob heaving back and forth in a brick-lined pit in the ground. A tall, wiry man with a protruding potbelly and long, gray hair tied into a ponytail stood some three meters away from the edge. A once formal and proper dark suit of clothes adorned the man, but it wore so many patches of color and dark stains as to make the jacket and pants a parody. Mr. Odpadki walked up to him, and the men exchanged a handshake. Tendril of the goop reached up and outward as if to seize the waste hauler at the first opportunity. However, the two remained well outside of its reach. Without thinking, Dennis climbed out of the lorry cab and walked toward the mini-monstrosity. His horror got laced with an odd fascination. 

"Not too close there, boy," the apparent owner of the place yelled at him. "It'll snatch you right up and drown you." 

"Why?" Dennis called back without hesitation. 

"Well… kind of alive and kind of thinking. The base sap comes from a variety of sapient dracaena tree. Gets willful after a while when different batches are mixed together. Can't let it go too long or it’ll get murderous," the man explained as if taking to a toddler that went soft in the head. 

"Okay. That tells me what it is, but not why it gets murderous. What'd you do to it?" Dennis returned fire with his question. 

Both the man and Mr. Odpadki gave him a sour look. However, Dennis could see he asked a relevant question. He waited patiently to be talked down to again. After a half a minute, Mr. Odpadki waved him over. Dennis joined the men. 

"What are you getting at, boy?" The owner of the malign sludge inquired. 

"Well, seems to me you put spells on this stuff before you apply it to… whatever you're applying it to. Ever think maybe the different spells conflict with each other when you mix 'em all together like this?" Dennis spelled out his thinking and pointed at the pond of goo that seemed to coil as if to strike. 

"Hmm, good point," Mr. Odpadki hummed without sounding too annoyed. 

"Maybe he does got one, Mariusz, but can't just leave this stuff lying 'round workshop, now can we? We'd have cans and bottles and cups dancing and hopping from one end t'other. Bad 'nough what it does to brushes. Why the bloody hell do you think we call you t'come take care of it?" 

"So, Dennis, if you was going to tackle this knotty problem, how'd you do it?" Mr. Odpadki asked in a slightly supercilious manner instead of answering his customer. 

Dennis returned his attention to the puddle of angry sludge. He could hear Zistrigan, a twelfth-century witch who devised some of the most complex potions ever imagined, and her constant mantra emanating from her portrait: "Focus on the whole thing, child, and not just the outside." Dennis did just that and considered the problem from the inside out. The spells created the situation. He thought about the nature of the spells and what they would do. However, he only got a cursory explanation. Dennis turned to the client. 

"I know you think this is a waste of time, but it isn't. Maybe you got it written down somewhere, but I think we need to know all of the spells at work here. I think a solution is somewhere in there," he told the man. 

"Trade secrets, boy, and worth more than my hide if I go spilling those out," the man spat out the words. 

"I'll agree to a confidentially binding as long as it's not lethal." 

"That's fair. Isn't it, Silas?" 

Twenty minutes later a binding curse wormed around in his brain. Should he break his word during Silas Youngman's lifetime, Dennis would suffer a year of non-stop hiccupping. The conditions pleased the man, so then he pulled out a book in which he wrote every spell he ever used when creating his paints and varnishes. He pointed out the most commonly used incantations. Dennis found the array both clever and fascinating. He immediately thought of Professor Flitwick, who would enjoy such finely crafted spells. Then he felt the curse slither through his brain as a reminder of what he would face should Dennis leak word of this to his favorite teacher. The curse, however, did not stop the youngest man of the three from memorizing some of the choicest spells. Dennis appreciated good charms work. 

"All right, fancy lad, what'll you do now?" Mr. Youngman burped at him. 

Dennis stayed his initial reaction. The man certainly did not know his sexuality, as Mr. Odpadki did not. He pushed his reaction to the side and took a deep breath. 

"Um, Mister Odpadki, how would you normally transport this… stuff?" Dennis asked his boss. 

"Oh, got some tanks in the lorry, and we'd siphon it into those once we tired it out," the sturdy man replied. 

"Can we open the tops?" 

Mr. Odpadki nodded and narrowed his eyes at the same time. 

"Good. We'll use the charms in place to get this mix to dance its way into tanks." 

The two men glanced at each other. Then they looked at Dennis. Mr. Odpadki shrugged. 

"Go get them coveralls on, Dennis, and we'll give it a try" 

Dennis raced back to the lorry, slipped into the voluminous gray suit of clothes, and darted back. Mr. Odpadki, in the meanwhile, open the cargo doors. Three large tanks rested inside. The fine level of control the man displayed in levitating the tanks out of the lorry impressed Dennis. The clearly older and thick wand, chipped and nicked in places, performed without flaw. Once the tanks rested on the ground and the lids gently lifted away, the wand disappeared into a pocket. Dennis and Mr. Odpadki returned to Mr. Youngman. 

"Okay, sir, you get to lead the way. They're your spells after all," Dennis said to Mr. Youngman. 

Mr. Youngman produced one of the longest, thinnest wands Dennis ever encountered. It stood as the polar opposite of Mr. Odpadki's wand. The older man waved it about in an uncertain manner while muttering spells. Dennis feared for the worst while the gloop in the pit began to respond. The response slowly transmogrified into open resistance, and it made complete sense to Dennis. Each of the various spells imbued in the mix tried to simultaneously activate. Dennis could never figure out why spells seemed so ready to spring into action. Spells could jump from potential to kinetic with barely a thought. It could also lead to surprising results, and the magic pond of waste proved no different. 

"What the bloody…" Mr. Youngman began to complain as he struggled to maintain control. 

"Too much! Too much!" Dennis yelled as the goo began to inflate into a giant bubble. "It'll pop!" 

The last two words got Mr. Youngman to desist. He cut off the flow of magic from his wand, and the now highly agitated pit of sludge began to deflate. The three men stood to one side and waited for it to resume something closer to its normal moody state. 

"Can't say as that worked out very well at all," the proprietor of the workshop complained. 

Dennis scrubbed his face with one hand before saying: "Look, you're activating some two dozen spells at one time, so 'course it's all going 'round the bend. Try it slow." 

"Since you're such a high and might know-it-all, why don't you give a try?" 

The naked hostility in Mr. Youngman's voice did not go unnoticed by Mr. Odpadki. He gave Dennis a warning glance that spoke volumes. The expression primarily told him his employment would end if this one job got any worse. A small snort escaped from Dennis as his nerves grew tight. 

"Okay, slowly," Dennis said aloud to himself as a reminder and not an instruction.


	4. Chapter 4

Dennis told his parents the following morning Mr. Odpadki gave him the day off because the work the previous day became a grueling twelve-hour slog. He did not arrived home until sunset, and it felt as if a gang of errant house elves beat him with heavy ladles for a few hours. His entire body ached from a combination of extended magic use, the likes of which he never endured, and some serious manual labor. Not only did Mr. Odpadki pay him the promised wage, but he threw in an extra galleon citing Dennis' persistence throughout the day. When his parents saw the way he moved, they accepted his explanation.

"Three bleeding hours it took to get that nasty ooze into the tanks," he said while toying with his breakfast. "What bloody fool mixes that many spells together? Huh? Surprised the stuff didn't explode." 

"I thought you said this wasn't dangerous?" His mother bridled, and his father nodded in agreement while chewing on a mouthful of porridge. 

"Not dangerous, Mum, just… fiddly, I guess. After what I saw yesterday, I think it'd be a good idea if witches and wizards got sent back to school for refresher courses every once in a while. It's like they've forgotten everything they once learned!" 

His parents gazed at him with uncertainty. 

"I'm not kidding," Dennis said and exposed his ire. "This older couple charmed an armoire so it could hold as much as a house. It took everything me and Mister Odpadki had to move it… and not just with magic. Feels like an ogre dropped a boulder on my shoulder." 

His father smirked, and Dennis realized his unintentional rhyme. The grin, however, also revealed other thoughts in the man's head. 

"Yeah, yeah. 'Bout bleeding time I put in an honest day. Right?" 

"Your words and not mine, Denny," the man said in a smug manner. 

"But is Mister Odpadki is happy with your work?" His mother intoned and asked a very parent question. 

"Yeah. Taking me to Essex tomorrow to help with a pretty big job. We might stay overnight," he stated in as offhand a fashion as he could muster. 

Dennis spent what free time he could manage the day before thinking up ways to get to Essex without raising the suspicions of parents. Given he now worked for a waste hauler who specialized in extremely exotic refuse, it presented itself as a natural cover story. Furthermore, Mr. Odpadki stated his satisfaction with Dennis' performance and style of thinking. His employer told him it usually takes up to eight hours to move the sludge from Silas Youngman's pits. Thus, the quick disposal allowed them to do more jobs that day, and somewhat to Dennis’ regret. It also earned him the extra galleon. 

"What's on the agenda?" His father inquired in a socially inquisitive tone. 

"Got some magicked muggle artifacts…" 

Then he saw their expressions change. His parents learned over the years the term muggle could carry negative connotations. Neither he nor Colin ever used the word as such, but it served as a reminder their child lived in a different world. It also recalled the fact they never continued their conversation from two days before. 

"Okay, witches and wizards are really curious about everything we see as normal. Part of the problem is magic and electricity doesn't get along to well… as you know," Dennis said in an effort to alter the sudden tension. 

"I miss that television," his father bemoaned. 

"Dad, how many times do I have to apologize 'bout that? Besides, Colin's the one who got it started. Who knew exploding snap would, well, make other things explode?" 

The elder Creevey male gave his son a long stare. 

"I'm working now, so I can help pitch in for a new set. I actually get paid a good wage," Dennis confessed because he knew it would ease the moment. 

"You don’t say. What rate?" His mother took the bait and asked. 

"Getting two galleons an hour… around… let's see… just over eight and half quid an hour." 

His parents' eyes went wide, and his father noted: "That's a good bit above the national youth development rate. You sure this work isn't dangerous?" 

"It's hard work, but not really dangerous if you keep your wits firm. Mr. Odpadki is a smart man, and he really knows what he's doing. I don’t think he'd put me in any danger 'cause it'd be the same for him," their son said in a thoughtful manner. "Besides, he did give me the day off to recover, so I'd say he's got a fair mind about all of this." 

"Alright, but, Dennis, do send word if you know you're going to be working late. I got worried when the sun started going down," Jill Creevey requested. 

"Sure, Mum. We can use the old chalkboards." 

In his first year, Dennis and his brother teamed up to charm two small chalkboards while at school. During the holiday break they brought the chalkboards home and told their parents what they planned. The boards gave them a means to send simple, small messages back and forth. A demonstration proved the utility to their parents, who did not like to traffic in owls. Since the magic got applied at school, it did not trigger a violation of the under-age magic restriction nor the misuse of muggle artifacts law since chalkboards got magicked at Hogwarts all the time. It provided a neat little loophole, and the chalkboards got used until Dennis graduated. It also sparked Dennis' nascent interest in charms that would blossom throughout the rest of his school years. 

"What's your plan for today other than laying around?" His father inquired and reverted back to form. 

"Got some paperwork I need to fill out at the Ministry to register my job, plus I need to open an account at Gringotts Bank so Mr. Odpadki can just shift my wages to it. Makes it easier for me, too," Dennis rattled off the plans he made the night before as prompted by his employer. 

"Good lord! He's talking like an adult!" 

"Dad!" 

The small family shared a brief chuckle together. After which his father announced he needed to head to the dairy and took his leave. Dennis finished his breakfast, cleaned the dishes with magic (and wondered where he actually sent the waste), and then went in search of the chalkboards used while at school. He also took the opportunity to take a shower and ease some soreness from his muscles. He found relief in another way as well. After drying off, Dennis put on a different pair of dark brown cargo shorts, a polo shirt, but the same trainers with clean socks. Once settled, Dennis returned to the dining area dressed and with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

"Don't you look fresh?" His mother absentmindedly remarked. 

"Need anything from London while I'm there?" Dennis graciously offered. 

"Not that I can think of right now. Got your chalkboard with you?" 

"In my pack." 

"Check it every once in a while if you don't mind. I might think of something," she suggested. 

He said he would as he walked to the middle of the living room. 

“Does that hurt, Love?” His mother asked. 

“Yeah, my back still feels kind of squished from yesterday,” he replied as he gripped his wand and prepared to disapparate. 

“No, I meant traveling like that. It looks like it pulls you inside out and into knots,” she clarified. 

“It kind of does feel like that, but it's not painful. Just uncomfortable for a few seconds. Also gets the stomach turning.” 

“Oh, that I would believe.” 

“Would you like to try it sometime? You could side-aparate with me to the Ministry and then go into London for a few hours,” Dennis offered as he twisted his head around to look at her. 

“No, I think I’ll stick to autos and the bus for the time being. Not that I don’t trust you, but it looks so… so… worse than a roller coaster,” his mother declined with a tiny shake of her head. 

“Not far off from that to be honest. You get used to it, though. Hardly bothers me anymore. Believe it or not, Mum, it’s one of the safest ways to travel. No collisions with anything. No falling out of the sky. Doesn’t pollute. Might get splinched once or twice, but that’s sorted out easy enough,” he told her. 

“I honestly don’t want to know what that last bit is. Sounds dreadful,” she said with a wave of her hand. “You go take care of your business. I thinking of picking up a half shift this afternoon, so dinner might be late.” 

“Don’t forget to send me a note.” 

“Smart alleck,” his mother rumbled at him through a grin. 

“Okay, I’m off,” he announced. 

“Already knew that, son,” she replied with one of his father’s favorite puns. 

Dennis rolled his eyes as he started to concentrate. He heard her snicker as he began to twist through the space where magic resided. Three seconds later he arrived at the Ministry. Not one thing seemed to change from two days before. Dennis followed the usual procedures and made his way to the library. This time he made a very unique request to one of the librarians that sent them scrambling for ten minutes. One even commented that Dennis may be first to ask for such reference material. 

When he took a seat at one of the long, highly polished reading tables, a short stack of books faced him. Dennis began with the one volume on notable families in the wizarding world. It covered the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they only received a scant twenty pages or so. The rest got dedicated to families of less prestigious bloodlines who contributed far more to the magical world. However, the directory also listed families with ties to the muggle aristocracy. Given that one could hardly separate magical from muggle, it seemed a reasonable research resource. Dennis plied himself to the oddly arranged book. 

"Well, got a start at least. Looks like I'm heading to Colchester. Let's see where," he mused aloud to himself. 

Dennis proceeded to peruse the telephone directory for greater Essex. Although it seemed a long shot, he decided to simply look up the North family. Much to his surprise, he found Essex loaded with people bearing the last name North. 

"I really shouldn't be surprised now, should I?" He asked no one in particular. 

However, further scrutiny revealed a small estate located on Abbot's Road in the southern half of Colchester: North Guilford Hall. It matched several pieces of information Dennis unearthed in his earlier research. He noted the address and a general hall phone number. Further reasoning told him he could do research in Colchester when he arrived to make certain he contacted the right people. 

"Next," he said as he shoved the Essex telephone directory to the side. 

Dennis returned to the peerage book. The Thomas Lester North of the East Midlands became trickier to trace. Fewer Norths existed in the area, and the ones he found did not appear to be part of the muggle gentry. He returned to peerage volume to refresh himself on what few facts he could locate. In an almost throw-away sentence, he learned the Norths of East Midlands lost their peerage when the last North daughter married into the Hicking family. The baronage passed to the Hickings in the 1814. Thus, Dennis shifted his focus. 

Despite the new facts, the Hickings did not appear much better off than Norths in the region. The East Midlands shifted from agriculture and animal husbandry to industrial and manufacturing concerns, and that seemed to deplete the authority of the ancestral families. Unlike the Norths of Essex, Dennis could not locate any estates, grand or otherwise, for the Hickings despite the numerous times they appeared in the telephone directory. It seemed he would need to do more research when he actually went there. His plans began to solidify. 

"Time, please," he whispered to the tip of his wand. 

The numbers 1037 hovered in the air for a few moments. Although the magical world tended to view time as something they could bend and violate at will, a woefully dangerous assumption in Dennis' view, knowing the actual time muggles followed became handy. Dennis recalled a number of muggle-born students, including his brother, who consistently wore wristwatches. Magic, of course, meant they needed to reset the chronometers every single morning. By the end of the day, Colin's watch could be off by up to three or six hours depending on the classes he attended. As a result, Dennis concocted a charm during his second year for his wand to read the time alignment waves sent out across the world to keep the magical world in step with itself. He also adjusted it for the universal time coordinate and the time zone he occupied, and then truncated the reading to a twelve-hour setting displaying only hours and minutes. He always planned on refining the charm, but it worked well enough for his purposes. Hence, Dennis knew the local time stood at just after half-past ten in the morning. 

"I could pop off to Essex for a few hours and get some more research done," Dennis pondered as the numbers vanished. "Maybe even get lunch there." 

Dennis remembered Colchester as one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in England, and it once served as the capital of Roman Britain. It also served as a market city, and that meant he could find any number of exceptional meals. The notion swayed him. Dennis decided he would head to Colchester after completing his paperwork and a visit to Gringotts. It did not take much effort to stow his materials and notes. 

Two and a half hours later, a rather irked Dennis Creevey arrived on the apparating dais in Colchester. He earlier suffered the insufferable need for the Ministry to send its constituents on a seek-and-find game in order to file paperwork. He spent an hour shuffling around finding one piece of paperwork only to discovered he needed another complimentary form. It seemed unreasonable given he only needed to inform them he found work. Then came dealing with the goblins at Gringotts. Opening an account with their bank seemed tantamount to declaring war against one or all of the many goblin tribes. Even the goblin trying to lend marginal assistance freely admitted many of the procedures to be outdated, worthless, and wholly obstructionist, but the goblins loved their processes and refused to relinquish a single one without a protracted fight of many decades. As a long-lived humanoid species, they tended to win through simple longevity. 

Leaving Ministry property and setting foot in the city caused a near immediate change of mood. Long ago after Colin's first year at Hogwarts, his parents decided to take a holiday to Frinton-on-the-Sea. Getting there required they pass through part of Colchester, at least according to their father's theory. Although the A112 to the A120 provided a direct route around the north of Colchester, the Creevey patriarch decided the A124 to the A134 would offer better sights to see. While they did get to see some of the city through the windows of their auto, they got treated to better views of traffic and traffic lights. The A134 turned and twisted through the southern side of the city. The tour of Colchester cost them an extra hour in travel time before they reached the A133 and a sensible path. Despite that rather unpleasant memory, Dennis hummed in appreciation when his foot stepped onto the streets of Colchester. 

Ancient in England depends on two factors: first, where one stands, and, second, when one's family took up residence on the Isles. Although they traced their roots to both Ireland and Scotland, Dennis felt certain they came from European stock sometime in the last fifteen hundred years. That meant he came from an established family, not the oldest but firmly rooted. Then came the Gaels and Picts who roamed the through Ireland and Scotland for three or four thousand years at the very least. Their families became foundational and challenged the Romans when they took a turn at invading Briton. Finally, anyone who could claim lineage to the Druids dismissed everyone else as mere interlopers. With a history dating back between five and seven thousand years, likely more, the Druids claimed to be the original inhabitants of the islands. Moreover, several families continued to practice an ancient and arcane, even by wizarding standards, form of magic that generally spread terror in the uninitiated. They called upon earth forces so primal it defied the imagination. Dennis always wanted to go to a Druid Moot. 

Colchester seemed ancient in its own rights. The stones underfoot thrummed with life that tread those grounds for over two thousand years. Roman mages garnered a reputation for charming and cursing everything in sight, and some of the old magic continued to linger. Centuries upon centuries of various wars led to wide assemblage of ghosts, some of whom could not communicate with the living due to language barriers. Hence, a now happy Dennis Creevey went off in search of a lunch that he hopefully could not pronounce. A bus ride from The Octagon to the Colchester Town train station, the bus driver assured him, would land him a place where he could find multiple sources of food. Dennis took his chances and took the woman at her word. 

Half an hour later he sat on a street-side bench noshing on African fare that both puzzled and tantalized his taste buds. He walked into the eatery and asked the waitperson to give him what the dark-skinned man considered to the most pleasing dish. The grin on the man's face indicated Dennis possibly asked for more than he bargained. After the Styrofoam container got delivered to him, Dennis took it outside. He never asked for a description of the food. As he started to eat, and it woke his olfactory senses like few other dishes, Dennis could care not care less if it happened to be jerked panda bear. He loved it. Both the meat, whatever its origin, and roasted root vegetables oozed with unique flavor. The flatbread reminded him of naan, but not entirely. It did not take long before he sat contemplating if he should lick out the last remaining juices. Dennis sadly decided it would draw too many stares from passers-by, and his recent wizard training told him to avoid drawing attention to himself. Hence, he searched for trash bin to deposit the container. The flavors continued to swirl in his nose and along his tongue. 

A real search then began that required walking. Dennis found a map of the local area, and used it to locate where he needed to go. The slightly less than two kilometer distance did not encourage him to walk since the afternoon grew progressively stickier and warmer. Trying to wiggle information out of people while a sweaty mess did not seem a good idea. Thus, he spent more of his money taking a bus to Abbot's Road. When he arrived at North Guilford Hall, Dennis' face fell. 

A wide empty field with the fenced in remains of ruins awaited him. He crossed the street and approached the small building erected next to what seemed to be the last bits of a large stone manor house. A sign announced the building as a visitor center, so he went in. He found what looked to be two rooms: a main display room and a private room cordoned off by a wall and a door. The building stretched roughly six meters in breadth and about twelve meters in depth. On the righthand side a counter stood occupied by a woman dressed in cheery shades of blue, green, and yellow. 

"Good morning," the elderly woman happily called to him. 

"Um, hi. Good morning," Dennis replied as he walked toward the receiving desk feeling grateful for the air conditioning. "I, ah… wasn't expecting this." 

"And what would that be? Precisely?" 

"Ruins, I suppose. I thought the North family resided here," he frankly admitted. 

"Oh, heavens no! The old manor got bombed to pieces during the war, so they relocated to their residence up near Horkesley Heath. Sad, really. It was a beautiful Georgian villa modeled on a French regency style, as you can see from the pictures on the wall. This is all that remains, and the grounds are now open to the public. They kept the northeast wall – well, what's left of it – as a reminder of the cost of war. Plus, it still gives them claim to the land," the woman explained in a single breath that left Dennis panting for her. 

"I see. You seem to know this history of this place, but… well, I guess it is your job," Dennis replied with an apologetic grin. "Got a question, then: how, ah… how would one go about maybe getting an audience with Lord North?" 

"Oh, shouldn't be too hard, I imagine. Most of his concerns are run by a board of directors, although he likes to keep his hand in. His granddaughter oversees most of the day-to-day operations, so you might want to talk to her… about what?" 

"I guess their family line," Dennis truthfully stated. "I came across an odd occurrence while researching some family business up in Scotland. I found a reference to a Thomas Lester North from the mid-eighteenth century, except then I found another Thomas Lester North from the same time period. One lived in the East Midlands, and one here. I'm just trying to sort out who is who, so this way I don't go chasing up the wrong tree. If you take my meaning." 

"I most certainly do, and isn't that strange. Two Thomas Lester Norths! I dare say they're quite likely related, but… well, the family line got consolidated by eighteen-fourteen in Nottingham… something of a to-do over with land and titles," she told him in an excited and pleased tone. 

Dennis smiled as she spoke, held out his hand, and said: "Nice to meet you. I'm Dennis Creevey, and you'll never see my name in any of those histories." 

"A pleasure, Mr. Creevey. Evelyn Llewelyn, by marriage and not by choice," she stated with a chuckle and accepted the handshake. "Not many people show an interest in the North family these days, and especially one as young as you. I must say you've stumbled on an interesting little piece, haven't you?" 

He nodded. 

"Well, I may just be able to help so you don't have to go trotting up to Horkesley to make an appointment. Give me a moment if you'd be so kind," Mrs. Llewelyn requested. 

"Sure. Thanks," he agreed. 

The apple-shaped woman with graying auburn hair bent down into a crouch. He could hear her muttering as she shifted objects under the countertop. Dennis took the opportunity to glance around the small building. Many reprints of enlarged grainy old photographs lined the walls. It shocked him for a moment when the people in the pictures remained frozen in place. The old manor house appeared nice enough and seemed fitting for the modest side of nobility. No one smiled in the photos, but they appeared pleasant in every other aspect. Here and there small pedestals got placed to display artifacts both from the building and the family. Nothing about them seemed at all magical. 

"Ah!" Mrs. Llewelyn crowed and made Dennis jump a bit. "Here it is." 

The woman surfaced like a behemoth from the sea, struggling to lift a heavy and apparently old book. The leather cover, a goldish-yellow, looked scratched and worn. Dennis could not make out the lettering on the cover or spine when it got unceremoniously dumped on the counter. 

"This is a copy of what they have up at the house. Full record of the North family going all the way back to the thirteen hundreds," Dennis' current curator exclaimed in a happy voice. "Now, in what dates did these two Thomases live?" 

Dennis fished out his notes from his backpack. He did not want to appear too eager, so he made a show of looking for the data. After half a minute he said: "Both born in seventeen-twenty-nine. Don't know when the one up in Midlands died, but I found some bits saying this one from here died between seventeen-sixty and seventeen-sixty-three." 

"That is odd. How would you not know the date of death? I can understand if someone forgot to record it, but peers tended to be quite careful with such information since it could affect inheritance. One sec while I take a look." 

"Sure," Dennis agreed and watched her read. 

Following two minutes of flipping through pages and dragging a finger down tables of text, Mrs. Llewelyn suddenly stabbed her finger downward and proclaimed: "Here he is. Yes, born in seventeen-twenty nine. Married seventeen-fifty. Sent to the British regulars in India in sixteen-fifty-eight after severing in Prussia as a military attaché for three years. Fought in the battles of Pondicherry. Returned to the Seven Years' War after that. Died in battle in seventeen-sixty-two during a raid along the Russian front. Buried there. Left a wife behind, but no children. He was second in line for the title." 

In less than a minute he learned more from Evelyn Llewelyn than his hours of research at the Ministry of Magic library. While he felt frustrated on one hand, Dennis also felt a new sense of excitement. He managed to winnow down the number of men named Thomas Lester to one in particular. Dennis smiled at the woman. 

"I take it this answers some questions for you," the woman intoned. 

"More than a few, but it raises a whole bunch of others. Looks like I'm off to the East Midlands tomorrow. I hope I can run into someone as helpful as you, Missus Llewelyn. You're better than a library!" He rejoined. 

"Oh, says you!" Mrs. Llewelyn demurred. "Really, it was nice to see someone interested in the old family lines. They're dying out, you know, and there's a been a push to let the letters patent expire." 

"What's that?" 

"The decree used by a king or queen to bestow a title on a person and family. Most of the old peerage by writ of summons are immune and don’t expire unless the family dies out. Even then it gets shifted to someone else, but the newer patent ones can lapse if the remainder clause is uncertain." 

She spoke a language Dennis did not understand, and she spoke with unmitigated certainty. 

"So, which one gave the Norths their title and lands?" He further inquired. 

"Oh, this is a writ of summons peerage. This is old nobility, Mister Creevey, and a member of the House of Lords since the end of the Lord Protector period," Mrs. Llewelyn further expounded. 

Dennis made a show of scribbling down the information, some of which he did legibly copy. However, it differed from his knowledge of history. Once in the magical world, he learned an entirely different set of events concerning England that only sometimes touched on muggle events. Moreover, magical history tended to be colorful in ways muggle history could not imagine, regardless of how hard Professor Binns tried to make it as boring and lifeless as his earthly remains. 

"So… if Thomas died in battle, then who got the title and the lands?" Dennis asked since it seemed a relevant question. 

"Oh, like I said, Thomas was second in line. James, the oldest, assumed the title and lands when… " and then Mrs. Llewelyn glanced at the page in the ledger, "when Jonathan died. It was quite common for second and third sons in big noble families to become lifelong military officers. Good ones or national heroes could earn their own peerage. Daughters got married off to try and strengthen the family's revenues and political positions. All quite calculated, really." 

"Sounds like it." 

Dennis started to put his materials away. 

"Tell me, Mister Creevey, what is your real interest in all this. Are you related to the North family?" The woman inquired as she watched him and sounded more guarded. 

"No, not even distantly related. Like I said, I was looking up family business from centuries ago, and I saw Thomas Lester North mentioned without any details. When I looked him up, I found more than one, and couldn't figure out who was who. It all struck me as sort of odd, and… to be honest, curiosity got to me. Couldn't let it go, so I did more research. That's how I wound up here," Dennis told her, and his recounting more or less fit the truth. 

She smiled and said: "Sound like you caught the curiosity bug. It'll get you and lead you places you never expect. Mister Llewelyn is something of a train spotter, and now he's got a whole room of books dedicated to trains that run on the lines in England. We've gone looking for train tunnels in the silliest of spots. Plus, he can go on and on for hours and hours about trains. Gets to be a bit much at times, between you and me." 

Dennis grinned at her last statement because she infused her comment with obvious affection for her husband. 

"Well, I sincerely hope you find out more regarding your Thomas North," the woman continued in her cheery demeanor. "If it touches on this branch of the family, could you be a dear and drop me a note giving some details? Might fill in some of the records that got lost during the bombing raids." 

"Yeah, sure. I can do that," he readily agreed as the sound of the zipper on his backpack growled in the air. "Honestly, you were more help than I could've expected and gave me a lot more information than I could've asked for, so I owe you at least that much." 

"Oh, be off with you," Mrs. Llewelyn coyly responded to the compliment. 

Dennis held out his hand again and said: "Thanks, Missus Llewelyn. I appreciate you talking to me." 

"And I appreciate you coming in to ask some fine questions, young man. Been a while since someone your age stopped in. Rather exciting, really." 

They smirked at one another. 

"Alright, got a trip to make to London, so… thanks again," he gave a final good-bye. 

"You take care, Mister Creevey," Mrs. Llewelyn offered. 

Dennis nodded. With that, he turned and headed out of the small visitor center. The humid, warm day wrapped around him like a wet blanket pulled from a muggle clothes dryer. It made both his clothing and skin feel heavy and sticky. Dennis made his way to the bus stop while he considered all he learned from the very helpful Mrs. Llewelyn. Even when he sat in the covered bus shanty, he could not believe his luck. It slowly began to dawn on him that the woman possibly reacted to his demeanor. The ghosts and portraits at Hogwarts always appreciated a somewhat deferential approach, and he naturally adopted the posture with Mrs. Llewelyn. Moreover, if his mother ever found out he got cheeky with an older adult, she would box his ears without any thought of his wizard status. 

"Ooh, Mum'd do me a good one," he mumbled and shuddered. Then he checked the chalk board for good measure, and it remained blank. 

Dennis took his time going home. He returned to the Ministry library for a second check of the phone directories for possible relatives of Thomas Lester North of the East Midlands, and Nottinghamshire in specific. It seemed very likely the two Thomases shared a common if not recent ancestor in their times. However, fortune smiled on the North's of Essex more than their possible cousins in the north. He recalled the titles the East Midlands got assumed by the Hickings, so he again scanned for that surname. 

Dozens of the name faced Dennis. Randomly selecting an appropriate point of contact did seem a good tactic. It appeared the haphazard plan he used in Essex could not be employed in the Midlands. As Dennis scribbled down names and street addresses, he also breezed through the business section. The name Hicking appeared dozens of more times in various light industrial concerns. While the North's of Essex faced a gradually and persistent erosion of their status, parts of the Hickings branch became a major force and moved with the times. Despite that, Dennis found himself at a loss on where to begin. The time for desperate measures arrived. 

"Finally," Silent Thom sighed the word following fifteen minutes of Dennis' rather aimless discourse on what he learned. "The name Nottingham hasn't crossed my lips in two-hundred and forty years. Although your method of discovery befuddles me, I am extremely grateful, Mister Creevey." 

"Thanks, but the job isn't done yet," Dennis conditionally accepted the gratitude. "Still got to find out who did you in." 

He watched as Thomas' jaw grew tight. The curse only got partially broken. It renewed the anger in the living young man. However, other questions emerged. 

"Thomas, you might not be able to answer, but… don't get mad, but you didn't deserve this, did you? Somebody wasn't getting revenge for something awful?" 

A quiet fury rose in Thomas Lester North's face, but then it subsided in the same rapid order. It let the ghost of the man looking sad and worn. Dennis admired Thomas' self-control. 

"I suppose it is fair of you to both ask and think that. I can assure you I did not comport myself in an unseemly manner deserving this type of retribution. This was the result of…" the spirit said and attempted to say. 

The curse took hold again. Dennis patiently waited until Thomas could continue. The sound of the water lapping at the stones rose up the side of the cliff. Once more, the birds squabbled over the limited real estate down below. The minutes passed while the curse effects faded. 

"Small though it may seem, Dennis, what you accomplished is more than I could have hoped. You returned to me my name and something of my home. Although I cannot return there, I am given a sense of ease not mine these past two and half centuries. It is no trivial matter, and you are to be commended." 

On that hot very late spring afternoon, Dennis got to watch Thomas smile for the first time he could recall. Although his style of dress never changed, and the younger of the two men assumed Thomas died in those clothes, the ghost appeared brighter. The sunlight did not wash him out of visibility. The victory got overshadowed by the fact so much more remained to be uncovered. Dennis turned his mind to the task. 

"Thomas, what do you know about the Hicking family?" He inquired. 

"In my day they ran a small foundry lying halfway to Grantham. They made and poured moulds for two- and four-pounders. They sold to any who asked, and long before my time it bought them favor with William of Orange. My family still held vassal papers with the Hickings from before the time of Cromwell…" 

"Hang on. Missus Llewelyn told me the North's became nobles after Cromwell." 

"There in lies the flaw of teaching only magical history at this school. Events in the non-magical world play a crucial role in our lives, Mister Creevey, and woe be to the mage who fails to take note of it," Thomas cautioned. 

The two stood and locked gazes for a moment. In an unusual fashion, Dennis found Thomas a rather handsome man. Firstly, his jaw looked much firmer than the ones he saw in paintings and wood prints concerning other nobles. A rather high and square forehead tapered down to a cut jawline and square chin. The nose, while aquiline, did not appear too hawkish. Dark eyes gleamed with intelligence even in the after-life. The man also appeared fit. 

"Mister Creevey, why do you observe me as you do?" The dead man asked. 

"You're not a bad looking bloke, Mister North," Dennis honestly answered. 

"Lord North. I was titled." 

"Fat lot of good it did, huh? Titles don't keep a person from getting murdered." 

"It…" and Thomas' mouth snapped shut. 

Dennis did not spend two years virtually alone in a school getting tutored by others who passed on long before Thomas and not walk away with some real education. Many of the ghosts and paintings tried to shape his style of thinking. Several succeeded. 

"Hold on. This is part of it, isn't it? You being Lord North and all?" Dennis vocally pursued his line of thinking. 

Thomas became an insubstantial statue. 

"That's yes if I ever saw one from you,” Dennis remarked and then quipped, “Bet you owned a few horses then, did you?" 

"Ah… yes," the spirit of the man heaved out the words as if denied breath for too long. "If I may, and perhaps you will take meaning from this, my full title is… was Thomas Lester Jonathan, Lord North, Earl of Nottingham. Before you ask those silly questions, we had nothing to do with one Robin of Hood. Those myths are like a plague." 

Dennis grinned, but he did take Thomas' hint. He sat down on the short, stiff grass of the promontory while unslinging his backpack. After fishing around on the inside and taking note the small rectangle of a chalkboard remained blank, Dennis withdrew his research notes parchment and a ballpoint pen. While others might chide him, quill and ink often became difficult to use without a desk and rather messy. Besides, he privately thought, ballpoint pens could hold a greater number of charms, and that made them superior to quills. He wrote down Thomas full name and title. 

"Huh, what do you know? Another puzzle. Thomas Lester North of Essex was the second son of Jonathan North in Essex. They were earls, too. So, you were related to royalty?" Dennis mumbled the question. 

"Through James the Fourth of Scotland, but more by marriage than by blood. We were part of the seventh creation, and, actually, a reestablishment of the line. Although we possessed heredity claims previous to the Lord Protector… and this means nothing to you?" Thomas began and unceremoniously wound down. 

"Not a lot. Wizards and witches do have much to do with royalty… 'cept you said you were a wizard. Right?" 

"Indeed. My mother came from a long line of witches. Although frowned upon for primary heirs, there is quite a bit of magical blood in the royal lines. Victoria denied her magical roots to an obsessive degree from what I heard, and obscurials emerged too frequently in the Hapsburgs, but more than few of royal blood quietly studied the craft. One does not remain king or queen without exploiting all avenues of power." 

Dennis gaped at the man. No one ever talked about the mingling of magical and royal blood, much as people tended to view magical-muggle unions with disdain. It did not make a lot of sense to Dennis. He thought again of Hermione and Séamus. However, here stood a man – or perhaps floated – with real connections to royalty who freely confess to not only his magical mother, but the fact he lived as a practicing wizard. It caused a few moments of cognitive dissonance in Dennis. 

"You appear surprised, Dennis?" Thomas queried. 

"Do we do ourselves any favors by ignoring all of this?" He questioned in return. 

"In my case, it partially led…" 

Dennis frowned as he watched Thomas become completely inert. The he reacted as he did minutes before and asked: "Did a lot with sheep up in the Midlands?" 

"Uh… some," Thomas said and again appeared as if he got suffocated. "There was always a need for wool and mutton. It served more of a staple than an outright commodity. 

"Thomas, what's it like when that happens?" 

"Awful. Terrible. I cannot move. I cannot speak. There is a horrible sound inside of my head, and I cannot even think for the most part. It is only when I completely dismiss… those thoughts that I am released from my stricture. Were it not for your timely and distracting questions, I could spend a considerable amount of time locked in that condition." 

The day grew colder around Dennis as tried to imagine what Thomas endured. It seemed completely and wholly unfair to the ghost. Even if Thomas did something in the past that required atonement, two and a half centuries of torture exceeded all limits of decency and probity. Dennis made up his mind he would not cease his investigations until and at least when he found a way to free the ghost from the curse. Thomas deserved that small kindness. 

After a lengthy silence, the specter turned toward the living young man and said: "Mister Creevey, may I inquire as to what you will gain from pursuing this matter? It does not involve you in even the remotest sense." 

Dennis cocked his head upward and stared into the semi-transparent visage of Thomas Lester Jonathan North, the late Earl of Nottingham. True, he thought, the issues did not involve him. Yet Dennis felt some kinship with the ghost. 

"Thomas, I know what it's like to be left out… excluded… for no good reason. I know what it's like to feel alone and nobody cares for you. I know what it's like to have people look down on you for something that's not your fault," Dennis laid out part of his reasoning. "But that's really not what got under my skin." 

"Then what?" The man asked when Dennis paused. 

"It's just not fair: this, what happened to you. And what would it say about me if I felt all that, know all this, and did nothing about it? It'd make me a right prat. Worse, it'd make me monster. I can't just stand by while you're suffering like this, Thomas. If I don't help, who will?" 

"You are a decent and honorable man, Dennis Creevey," Thomas said with clear emotion. "Alas, even in my day people of your… personal inclination did not receive just treatment. I dare say life is better for all in this age." 

"Maybe," Dennis said, shrugged, and then sat more upright. He wanted to return to the original subject. "So, um, Thomas, can you think of anyone I might go talk around Nottingham that could help?" 

"Alive? No one. Have you consulted with record keepers in the parish?" 

“Muggle or magical?” 

“Both, I would imagine. However, it would seem logical to being with the non-magical records. Are you conversant with the rules and regulations of the non-magical?” Thomas suggested and then asked. 

“Born and raised in a muggle house, remember? So, yeah, I know my way around,” Dennis replied and tried to keep the sarcasm to a manageable level. 

“Yes, yes, as you told me in the past. Forgive my lapse of memory,” the man replied and rolled his ghostly eyes. 

“Not a problem, Thomas. You are old after all.” 

“Quite.”


	5. Chapter 5

It seemed to Dennis he never learned enough to see a clear path forward. Thomas’ curse impeded, yet it could not overcome inquisitiveness. Whoever cast the terrible spell probably never expected anyone to lend the ghost assistance with a dilemma about which he could not speak. By the time Dennis returned home, his head ached a because he spent more time in the Ministry of Magic library studying Nottingham maps and telephone directories in an attempt to chart a course. He finally gave up after two unproductive hours and wrote down the addresses of a number of Nottingham government buildings.

Dennis got a bit of surprise when he arrived in the living of his home. 

“Owl came for you, love,” his mother and held up a folded and sealed sheet of parchment. “I gave the bird a hot dog. Think that was wise?” 

“Perfect, Mum. Delivery owls expect a tip of some sort, and glad you remembered,” he rejoined. 

“Well, it looked like it came from a long way off and could use a bit of something to eat.” 

By the time he finished speaking, Dennis walked into the dining area, took the proffered message, and kissed his mother on the top of the head. He sat down across from her. The seal sparkled when he broke it, indicating the proper recipient opened the letter. Anyone else who tried would find themselves with a ball of fire in their hands and a loud screaming sound that could and probably did wake the dead. Mail security made Voldemort’s infiltration and monitoring of personal messages all the more extraordinary. The dark wizard, for all his evil intentions, often exhibited extreme magical talent. 

“Huh. Change of plans tomorrow. Heading up to East Midlands instead of Essex,” Dennis fabricated part of his statement. The letter from Mr. Odpadki asked if Dennis could work for part of the morning. “Still going to be an overnight run. Package first, and then transport the next day. Hope he gets a hotel with tubs in the room.” 

“Did he say what you’re be moving?” His mother queried while flipping a page in a magazine. 

“Doesn’t seem to be his habit. Maybe he likes the surprise. Where’s Dad?” 

“Angelo’s getting some alfredo, salad, and bread-sticks.” 

“Enough for three?” Dennis inquired. 

“Have we ever let you go hungry?” His mother chided him. 

He smirked. She ticked her head back and forth. A few seconds passed. 

“Thought you were getting some coveralls?” 

“Waiting for Missus Odpadki to alter them. Mister Odpadki said they needed to get a stain out, too. Said it bites.” 

His mother looked at him with a blank expression. 

“Not dangerous, Mum. Just a stain,” he responded to her expression. 

“That bites? Well, what kind of stain is that if it’s not dangerous?” She rumbled at him. 

“Magical one.” 

She shook her head a little while lowering her eyes back to the magazine as she mumbled: “Your world sometimes.” 

Her comment annoyed Dennis. On one hand she like magicked items like the chalkboards or spells he used to help her clean. Yet a biting stain or a doubling-skink sent her around the bend. Years before he tried to argue how muggle activities, like autos, threatened the world with noxious exhaust, but she would dismiss the comparison. His father fell into the same pattern of thinking, except he even distrusted useful magic. Dennis stood. 

“Going for a wash up and to organize my stuff for tomorrow,” he announced. 

“Mmm,” his mother hummed without glancing up. It served as her default answer indicating she heard the person speak but did not listen to the words. 

Dennis left and went to his room. 

That evening over dinner he argued with his parents about the safety of his new job. His father, predictably, reacted poorly when his mother casually mentioned the biting stain. For the umpteenth time Duncan Creevey offered to find his son employment at the dairy where the worst he would face came in the form of an ill-tempered bovine. When Dennis flippantly inquired about the number of people who died over the years at the dairy, his father got quite cross and said one could not compare a magical menace to a herd of spooked milk cows. Underneath the man’s statements, his son heard a reminder that Colin got killed by someone wielding magic. As a result, Dennis finished his dinner in silence. Then he went to his room after cleaning off the table using magic. His father shot him an angry scowl as a reward. 

The next morning, he grabbed his pack and disapparated from his bedroom. He scrawled a note on the chalkboard that he departed early. After meeting with Mr. Odpadki and climbing aboard Kate, he stared out the lorry window watching the scenery. The southern suburbs of London seemed in a rush. 

“Bad row with folks?” His employer asked following ten minutes of silence. 

“Why would you say that?” Dennis countered without turning his head. 

“Raised three children myself, so I know a good sulk when I see one, Dennis.” 

“Ever have muggle parents?” 

“Can’t say as I did,” Mr. Odpadki rejoined. 

“Ever have muggle parents who lost one of their children to a magic war?” Dennis pressed. 

“Oh,” the man whispered. 

“Told ‘em about the stain your wife was getting out of the overalls – and thank her for me, if you would – reminded them magic can be… well, not nice at times. Three years, Mister Odpadki, and I can’t get ‘em to see reason ‘bout magic,” he explained. 

“The old blame the wand and not the wizard, but… can’t say I’d think much different than them if I lost one of my children.” 

“Oh, so you’d blame all of magic instead of Voldemort?” 

Mr. Odpadki paused for a moment and quietly replied: “No, s’pose not, but sometimes I wonder if maybe some people shouldn’t be bound.” 

Dennis finally turned his head and gaped at the man. 

“Look, they had to know early on something was off with Vol… him when he was a kid. He went to that school of yours. Didn’t they figure out He-Who…” and he halted for a moment when Dennis threw him a sour look for using the old title before continuing.” Yeah, alright, but it’s a hard habit to break, but if they knew he wasn’t right in the head, they could’ve bound his powers.” 

The large vehicle traveled east on the Staines By-pass from Staines-upon-Thames, where they met, toward their ultimate goal of the Queen Mary Reservoir. The Ministry actually hired Mr. Odpadki to remove an animated kelp creature set loose in the water. Mr. Odpadki got to charge the Ministry a higher rate than his regular customers, and promised Dennis at least ten galleons for a few hours work. Dennis knew he sold himself that morning. The current debate made the slowly crawling traffic tolerable. 

“Not the point, Mr. Odpadki,’ Dennis shot back. “Who'd make that determination… and where would it stop? Did you forget about the witch trials in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries? Do you want to be like that?” 

“How many times have we heard people say ‘Oh, yeah. Knew he was a bad one from the first day.’ Shouldn’t we take it more serious than we do?” 

“But now you’re saying the accusation is what matters. You’d force people to prove they're innocent… and that’s not how it’s supposed to work. That’s how Voldemort ran his courts!” 

Mr. Odpadki frowned at the traffic in front of them moving at less than half the posted speed. 

"How many people would start using it for revenge against people they don’t like?" Dennis continued to press his point. The man's frown deepened. "And why is it people always say they knew someone was a bad sort from the get-go, but didn't say nothing to the aurors? Huh? If you knew your neigbor'd gone mental and turned nutter, would you tell the Ministry?" 

The man opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Dennis waited a full ten seconds for an answer. The silence did not surprise him. 

"I heard Harry say one time Dumbledore knew Tom Riddle – who he was before he called himself Lord Voldemort – was going dark. Brought him to Hogwarts to try and turn him around and keep an eye on him. So, someone did know, and someone tried to keep Voldemort under control. How much worse would've been if Dumbledore didn't do that?" 

"Yeah, I s'pose you got a point there," Mr. Odpadki spoke at last. "Forgot you know Potter and knew Dumbledore. Bet that was strange hanging around with the Boy Who Lived?" 

"No, wasn't at all. Harry's a really decent bloke. Always treated me and Colin with respect. Never acted like he was better than anyone… and he had all that shit going on in his life," Dennis replied and became more somber as he thought of the famed wizard. "First year I was there he got caught up in the Tri-wizard Tournament. He hated it. Hated the fame. Hated the way people pointed at him and thought he cheated. The whole time someone was trying to kill him… and he went out of his way to be nice to me and Colin. People don't understand Harry at all." 

"Sounds like you didn't like your time at Hogwarts all that much?" His employer swerved onto a different topic while shifting through traffic in order to prepare for the roundabout at Ashford Road. 

"Me and Colin were kind of hyper 'bout being wizards, and that put people off," he started and gazed at the traffic struggling to organize itself. "Then coming from a muggle family meant we didn't know a thing 'about magic or any of this. Colin was me best mate, Mister Odpadki, and he got killed in the battle. After that… wasn't ever really right. 'Specially when I got outed in my… what?" 

"You're gay?" The man grunted. 

"Yeah. Got a problem with that? 'Cause I know how to disapparate from a moving car!" 

"Ease up, Dennis," Mr. Odpadki nearly scolded him. "My brother's gay, and I never had a truck with him about it, so don't get your knickers in a twist." 

Dennis tried to calm down. 

"Explains a couple of things, you know?" 

"Like what?" 

"Like why you're so bleeding good with charms and transformations… and you already told me you used to hang around with ghosts and talk to pictures. Thought you might be a little soft in the head at first, but now… yeah, I know a little of what you went through," the older man said with clear compassion. "You won't get any grief from me on that score. Oi, wonder why I contacted you and not some of the other boys on the routes?" 

Dennis shook his head. 

"One day, Dennis. Just took one day, and I got a good read on you. You're smart and think fast. Can't see you're afraid of much… and the resin pit is a good test. You'd be surprised how many of the chaps shit their britches the first time they had to deal with Youngman and his mess. I knew it worried you some, but you never backed away. Youngman didn't scare you much, either." 

"Want to bet?" The younger man quipped. 

"Well, didn't show it then, and that's what it takes to work with him," Mr. Odpadki said in an approving tone. "They way I see it, if you being gay made a rough road of it for you at times, then you came out lot stronger. I just hope you can find a bloke who'll appreciate you for what you are." 

Dennis' mouth dropped open. 

"What? My brother Ollie was the best man at my wedding, and his Reg is a treat. I think the missus would like to trade me in for him from time to time. Hell, I think I'd like to trade Gennie in for Reg every once in a while." 

Dennis snorted with amusement at the statements. 

"I know why you didn’t tell me straight away, Dennis, so no hard feelings on that score. Take it as a lesson, though. Be upfront with people so you know where they stand. It'll save you a lot time, and you'll know who the arseholes are from the start," Mr. Odpadki advised and grinned. 

"Yes, sir," he agreed with the advice. After a few seconds he added: "Thanks." 

"Nothing to thank me for. In this business you learn about folks real quick. Them what treats you like dirt for doing this job are the real garbage. Means they're not nice to anyone. Someone like Silas may act like a doxie at times, but he pays well, on time, and gives my name out to others. There's another lesson, too: watch what people do. It'll tell even more 'bout 'em." 

"Oh, I learned that one a long time ago," Dennis replied. A very small list of friends from school proved the point. 

During that ride Dennis could feel his relationship with Mr. Odpadki begin to change. He became less defensive and more open in conversation. It gave Dennis a reason to continue with the job. 

When they approached the reservoir, their talk immediately jumped to what they might face. Both suspected a creature got made and abandoned in the holding pond. When they arrived, they saw the mobile pile of lake kelp swimming along one edge. Mr. Odpadki cast an impressive glamour on creature to hide it from casual observers. He also produced a vial of pixie saliva that, when rubbed onto eyelids, allowed them to see through the spell. Dennis made a mental note of each. The two men then went to work. 

Their first efforts resulted in both them getting dumped into the reservoir several times. Mr. Odpadki thought ahead and brought an inflatable dingy. Every time they tried to grab the kelp creature, it fought back. They expected that, and it did not surprise Dennis in the least after facing an angry puddle of ooze. Moreover, when each attempted to levitate the mass from the water, it simply fell apart only to reform in the water. It did not take much to deduce what they faced would not be an easy task. Moreover, neither could determine exactly what animated the kelp. 

Four hours later they leaned against the lorry, panting, and dripping wet. 

"Who the bloody hell would ensnare a limnad and then make it invisible?" Mr. Odpadki angrily complained. "We're gonna report this to the Mysteries people." 

"Took a lot of magic to do it," Dennis panted. The lorry shifted from side-to-side as the limnad fought its confinement. "Now what do we do with it?" 

"Not sure to be honest. Think I might just haul it over to the Ministry and let them figure it out." 

The smirked at one another. 

"Feeling like coming along?" Mr. Odpadki inquired. 

"I kind of want to say yes, but I need to get up to Nottingham to do some research for a friend. It's a real puzzler, Mr. Odpadki," he answered. 

"Oh, what you got yourself into?" 

"A murder case from seventeen-sixty-one. Trying to figure out who done in one of the ghosts at Hogwarts… and why." 

"I see. I see. Going Wipple and Derge on me now, huh? Going to scamper off to fame and glory once you solve this case?" The man teased him. 

"Do I look like a centaur? And I’m shite with alchemy," Dennis laughed in return. "Nah, this is just a favor to someone who was nice to me at school. Thomas doesn't deserve what happened to him." 

"Fancy him now, do you?" 

"Oh, shut it! He’s straight. He's a ghost! How would that even work?" 

They shared another laugh. Mr. Odpacki then held out a small cloth sack. It looked heavy. Neither needed to state what hid under the fabric. 

"Alright, be off with you, then. Here's your pay, Dennis. You earned it. And tell that Hagrid fella I owe him an ale." 

Dennis accepted the ten galleons promised to him. He stowed it in a wet coverall pocket. Then he smirked again before saying: "Don't know as I'd make that promise. Hagrid is half giant. You'd be serving him ale in buckets." 

"Well, I owe him one bucket at least. Glad you got on with your teachers at school. There's another lesson: keep up with good contacts. Never would've thought of using honeyed lotus flowers to lure a limnad. Ever!" Mr. Odpacki offer yet another bit of advice. 

"Worked a treat, though, didn't it? Hagrid is the best, and I always stop in for a cup with him when I can. He makes tea like dwarves go to war." 

They laughed again, except Dennis laughed at the reality of Rubeus Hagrid's tea: it could knock a person's teeth out if one drank it too fast. Dennis liked it best on days when he did not get a lot of sleep the night before. Two cups of Hagrid tea would keep him awake all day even if it did make his vision blurry. Dennis fished around in the other wet pocket and pulled out his wand. 

“Here, Mister Odpadki. Hold out your arms and legs,” Dennis requested and partially mimed the action. 

His employer gave him a funny glance, but did as asked. 

“Ventignis,” the younger wizard said as he moved his wand tip in a small, tight circle. 

A warm, almost hot breeze blew from the wand. As it struck the clothing, the material dried. In a matter of two minutes, Mr. Odpadki stood completely free of dampness. 

“Always forget that one. Give me a brush up on how to cast it and stretch ‘em out,” the older man insisted. 

Three minutes later hot water vapor drifted through the air. Part of Dennis’ left side got mildly steam-cooked until he yelped and Mr. Odpadki adjusted the flow of magic. However, it seemed a good idea to share the spell since Dennis suspected he would get doused on a regular basis while in the employ of Mr. Odpadki. 

“Right useful spell there, Mister Creevey. Thanks!” The man said with a nod. 

“First spell I learned at Hogwarts from Professor McGonagall. Fell into the castle lake on my way in. The giant squid saved me, and I showed up at the sorting ceremony a little damp. She dried me off before the First Day Feast. Later she taught it to me,” Dennis recalled out loud. 

“Well, good on you again for remembering. Now, be off with you. I’ll send an owl around on Sunday night with the schedule. Your Mum got a good owl report yesterday. Whatever she did, she’d better be prepared to do it again.” 

“Oh, she is gonna love that!” 

After final good-byes. Dennis disapparated to the Ministy. He checked the visuals registry for the Nottingham station sigil. The advantage of using Ministry apparation pads, or rather large slabs of enchanted green marble, came with the magic amplification. Dennis could apparate to a destination over twice his range. Fortunately, Nottingham sat within that amplified range. If it lay outside his ability, the spell would not work. Ministry apparation pads used safety checks. Before he left, Dennis converted some galleons into pounds since he did not know what accommodations he would find in Nottingham. 

A kind kiosk attendant at the Nottingham Ministry Station gave Dennis a map of the area that highlighted accommodations for magical folk including bars, boarding houses, hotels, inns, markets, night clubs, and restaurants. He got shown the trick of activating the charm on the map that would show him the nearest amenities to where he stood at any given moment. The charm impressed Dennis, so he bought another map for 1 sickle and 20 knuts that he would dissect and experiment on at a later time. He loved practical charms. Following a brief conversation on where he should first go, Dennis stepped out into Nottingham. 

St. Alban’s at one time took a day’s ride by horse to reach from the center of London. Modern thoroughfares meant the same distance, roughly forty kilometers, could be covered in roughly an hour depending on traffic conditions. St. Alban’s retained some of its sixteenth century charm, although efforts to modernize began to strip the city of its heritage. However, it did not expand much further than its traditional borders in the last one hundred and twenty-five years. Nottingham easily compared to London and dwarfed Dennis’ hometown by a considerable amount. When he stepped out of the apparation station hidden next to Crown and Country Court across an alley from some local businesses, Dennis knew he entered completely new terrain. 

The volume of Nottingham reached his ears first, then the smells, and lastly followed by the limited sights due to his current location. It scared him. Dennis got used to the rather pastoral existence at Hogwarts and the quaint hominess of Hogsmeade. Even St. Alban’s felt prosaic compared to what assaulted his senses. Despite visiting London on many occasions, Dennis felt out of his depth. It probably helped that he knew how to get to The Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley. Conversely, he did not know the magical spots of Nottingham. After a quick glance around the alley, he pulled out his wand and touched it to the map. 

“Map, map in my hand, I need to know the lay of the land,” he mumbled and felt entirely childish. “Show me where I might find the Nottinghamshire Archives.” 

A bright green dot appeared on the map, and then a red one glowed not far away in map terms. It lasted for fifteen seconds and then faded. To the casual observer it would appear little more than a tourist map of Nottingham. Dennis grinned. He immediately thought of three ways he could improve the device. However, the fact he stood near a reasonable objective eased his trepidation. It took Dennis nothing to find Canal Street. He followed it west until Castle Wharf appeared. From there he could use the footbridge to cross Nottingham Canal, and then walk a short distance to the Archives. 

A leisurely fifteen minute walk lead him to the Nottinghamshire Archives, located in one of the county houses. Feeling confident, he went inside. Five minutes later he felt less confident. A man and woman manning the information desk grilled him about his interest in the archives and then started to badger him for proof of identity. Only the fact he came from muggle parents saved the day. They forced him to get a Validate UK identity card when he turned eighteen. Dennis never used the card because in the magical world one's wand acted as a primary form of identification. He nearly forgot about his wallet containing his identification that lay at the bottom of his backpack. It remained untouched for the last two and a half months. Only a brief flicker of a memory saved him from being escorted out of the premises. 

Five minutes later he got escorted to a reading room by one of the docents, a friendly elderly woman with steel gray hair tied into a bun on the top of her head. The floral print dress clashed with the vest she wore announcing her as an Archives employee. The heels of her sensible shoes clacked on the stone flooring as they moved along and created small peels of thunder when they climbed the stairs to the second floor. The reading rooms seemed squat compared to the high-walled hallways. Once in the room, Dennis received a tutorial on how to access the catalog system and request books. The computers meant Dennis might actually break the electronic retrieval system. He tried to angle his body away from the keyboard. Given he asked for historical records, he also got handed a set of white gloves for those times when he would need to look at the actual books. 

"There's a chat window you can use right on the screen if you have any other questions," she told him after firing up the computer. "It's all pretty simple, really, if someone like me can learn to work it." 

"Thank you. You've been really helpful… and I didn't mean to take up so much of your time," he apologetically said in the same manner he used with Mrs. Llewelyn at the North estate visitor center in Essex. 

"It's no bother at all, dear. As you can see… we don't attract a huge crowd on a Friday," the woman replied through a smile. 

Dennis grinned at her small joke. After patting him gently on the shoulder, she headed toward the room exit. Once the woman disappeared from view, he scrambled to pull his wand out of his pants pocket and stow it at the bottom of his backpack in the hopes it would insulate it from the electrical equipment. Although his wand never acted aggressive, Dennis feared it might decide to pick a fight with the computer systems. It would not take much to lay waste to every piece of electronics within a five-meter radius. While in his pack, Dennis pulled out his research notes and a pen. He then stared at the glowing monitor. 

In primary school the year before he went to Hogwarts, Dennis got in trouble in the brand new school computer lab when several of the computers, all worth close to two thousand pounds, shorted out when he attempted to work on them. His pleas of innocence fell on deaf ears since no other student caused the same calamity. Only when he got to Hogwarts did he discover his nascent and growing magical abilities caused the wreckage. He and all the other first years from muggle households got advised to avoid electronics for that very reason. It dawned on the young Dennis at the time that his brother actively avoided watching the telly with him for two years when Colin came home on holiday. Moreover, Colin also ceased using the telephone. In time, Dennis would adopt the same practices. It seemed to be the first wedge magic introduced between him and he previous muggle life. 

"Alright, here we go, and please don't explode," Dennis begged when he touched the keyboard and mouse. He felt himself trying to suppress his magical senses. "Please!" 

Neither the keyboard, monitor, nor mouse lapsed into lifelessness from his touch. The central processing unit hummed along without any seeming anomalous behavior. Dennis silently thanked his magic for not lashing out at the equipment. He needed it to work for the success of his venture. Sometimes the young man wondered if magic might be sentient, although all his instructors at Hogwarts told him otherwise. With a tentative sense of assurance, Dennis began to decipher how to use the electronic records retrieval. 

An hour and half later Dennis made serious progress. The printers saved him from developing a cramped hand, although he did take some notes here and there. He learned an extraordinary amount about the North family in Nottingham. They once held the deeds for huge tracts of land surrounding Nottingham. The original title of Earl of Nottingham got created in the 1377, but died out in 1383 when John de Mowbry failed to produce an heir. The title went through several creations, and the North's occupied it in one form or another during the third, fifth, and seventh creations. Several of Thomas' ancestors served as mayor, though none in the fabled sheriff position. They weathered the civil war, the Lord Protector period, and the development of the Commonwealth. Thomas became an heir the title as part of the seventh creation. Thomas Lester Jonathan North assumed the earldom in 1759 at the age of thirty when his father, Richard William Thomas North, died after falling off his horse during a hunt. Thomas would not assume the title for long. 

"He died without leaving a son to take over," Dennis whispered to the screen as he read the accounts. "Huh, no one thought he got murdered." 

In fact, the history seemed to indicated Thomas suffered from a genetic family illness that suddenly claimed his life in 1761 shortly before his thirty-second birthday. His younger brother, Edward Richard Charles, assumed and held the title for over fifty years and passed away in 1813 without a male heir. His eldest daughter married into the Hicking family in 1814, and they assumed the title through marriage. They held onto it from that day forward for one-hundred years. However, the industrialization of England, and the East Midlands in particular, severely weakened the power and prestige of the earldom until by the start of the first world war it got reduced to a figurehead status. The industrial magnates in the area slowly chiseled away at the lands, buying them up to build factories, and the poor fortunes of the Hickings required they sell. The last legitimate male heir of the Hicking’s earldom died in the war, and the title passed to the Finch family. It continued to reside with them in one form or another. 

Dennis got up and went to the printer to get his stack of printouts. He sat and read them over and over. Nothing in the family indicated any sort of lingering health problems. None of the North family died at an early age from a genetic condition, although various other diseases claimed numerous relatives of his both before and after his time. Thomas Lester stood out alone as the sole victim of a family condition. It looked suspicious on paper. It became even more suspicious when one looked at Thomas' ghost. He appeared a hale and hardy man at the time of his demise. The facts simply did not add up. 

"What other reason was there to do you in?" He asked the empty room. 

The young wizard went back to the computer and gazed blankly at the monitor. Nothing in the histories appeared odd, except Thomas' untimely death. Dennis stared at the words on the screen. Another anomaly slowly emerged. While the report on his father and brother ran at length, Thomas only got accorded five sentences. One stated his birth. Another described his young life through schooling and his role as second-in-command on the estates. The third talked about his marriage and his two daughters. The fourth centered on his attaining the title. The fifth just cited the year of his death. It became even stranger when the biography of Thomas' younger brother went at length to explain how Edward mourned his older brother for decades. Edward built an impressive mausoleum for Thomas in the family cemetery. 

Dennis' eyes lit up. He copied down the address for the cemetery. The record even included a small picture of the tomb of Thomas Lester Jonathan North. The young wizard wanted to see it for himself. He harbored a secret hope he might run into a ghost or two who witnessed the burial, although Dennis realized Thomas' body likely did not get interred in it for some time following his death. The events around the man's demise made the scant entry regarding Thomas in the records all the more surreal. It appeared as though someone deliberately tried to marginalize his life. Unfortunately, the attempt to reduce it produced an opposite effect for those who cared to look. It stoked Dennis' inquisitiveness to a higher degree. 

Sitting in an archive gave him access to all sort of maps. It did not take long to find the North family cemetery. It sat attached to the Memorial Gardens, south of the Nottinghamshire Archives and situated on the River Trent. The information Dennis found showed just under two hours remained before it closed for the evening. He raced to pack his belongs and depart the Archives. As he left, he saw no bus stations near the Gardens, but one got situated across the river on Loughborough Road within an easy walk. The nearby bridge offered both bicycle and walking routes. 

A twenty minute bus ride and walk found Dennis staring up at the likeness of Thomas carved into stone. He did not think the bas-relief portrait did the man justice. The portrait of a woman got carved on the other side of the doorway. Edward, however, seemed to spare no expense in memorializing and preserving Thomas. It gave every indication Thomas' death proved a surprise as well as untimely. The family plots got situated in the northwest corner of the Memorial Gardens, and several other noble families also shared the grounds. Dennis recognized many of the names from his recent reading. The small cemetery appeared dedicated to the various families that occupied the earldom of Nottingham. 

"So few come this way these days," a small, somber voice said from off to Dennis' left. 

Dennis turned his head and saw the faint outline of a woman. From what he could see she dressed in typical the mid-nineteenth century fashion. A hat and veil covered her head, and a long gown flowed around her. Although the details got lost in the bright sunlight, the outlines gave it away. He also determined her to be in middle age. 

"Hello," Dennis quietly intoned. 

The ghost glanced at him in either shock or surprise. 

"I'm a wizard," he explained. 

"Ah. It seems an eon since your kind visited our grounds." 

Remembering his manners, Dennis said: "I'm Dennis Creevey of St. Alban's. May I ask for your name?" 

"I am Lucia Ada Hughes… or was," she told him. 

"No, ma'am, you still are." 

"Very kind of you, Mister Creevey. May I ask why you visit this plot?" 

"Certainly," Dennis gamely agreed. "I am friend of Thomas North and came to see where he got buried." 

"Lord North? There is no current Lord North in Nottingham, sir." 

She sounded offended. 

"No, no, please, you misunderstand. I know Thomas Lester Jonathan North… or rather his spirit," Dennis quickly explained. 

The woman, what he could see of her, seemed aghast. 

"Ma'am?" He asked. 

"Impossible. Lord Thomas North died young and his spirit departed this realm," Miss Hughes said in a mixed aggrieved and sorrowful tone. 

Dennis turned to face her. He saw the strain on her face. It appeared to familiar to him. Then the truth struck. 

"Great Merlin, you’re his daughter!" 

"How would you know that?" She flung out the question in a sharp manner. The air grew cold between them. 

"'Cause you look like him," he declared. 

"I look nothing like that portrait, and…" 

"No, you really don't understand," Dennis cut her off. "I really do know your father. He's my friend, and I'm trying to solve what happened to him." 

"Thomas North died over two hundred years ago, and you are a mere strip of a boy!" Miss Hughes challenged. 

"All true, but there's a lot you don't know." 

"Such as?" She demanded. 

"Such as he got murderer and cursed, and his spirit got banished to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry… up in Scotland. That's where I met Thomas and got to know him. He is really and truly my friend!" 

The almost fully transparent face stared at him. Dennis could feel the otherworldly scrutiny. It became plainly obvious his news disturbed her. However, she did not use the ghostly form of rejection by simply vanishing. Lucia Hughes remained. 

"You swear by these words?" Miss Hughes darkly requested. 

"I do. On my honor as a wizard and a Creevey," he said while pulling the wand out of his pocket and offering the handle to her as a symbol of his honest intent. 

The long departed woman gazed at it. Then her head bobbed once. Dennis felt a shift in the air around him; a change in ghostly mood as he came to understand it over the years. The air grew warmer. 

"He remained," she quietly said and floated closer to the living man. 

"Thomas got cursed, Missus Hughes, so he had no choice. He got bound to Hogwarts. Whoever did it also put a silencing curse on him, and he can't speak about any of it. Took me a while to even get a little bit of information about his life," Dennis told her. 

"Tell me all you know, please." 

Dennis did. He revealed his discoveries and brief travels in search of the truth. The printed pages he brandished from his backpack helped the telling. Despite not knowing much more than he did two days before, he felt confident he set his feet on the right path. Mrs. Hughes silence during the entire tale seemed to confirm it. When he finished, they gazed at one another for a long moment. 

"He was killed. Wronged and cursed, you say? But why?" The dead woman at last asked. 

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Your father can't tell me… or anyone, Missus Hughes, and I'm pretty sure he knows. He wants to tell me, but he just can't 'cause of the curse. Every time I find something out and tell him, it removes part of it… at least on that information. When I found out his full name, Thomas said it was first time he heard it since he died. He seemed really relieved. Can't imagine what it's going to do to him when I tell him I found you," Dennis stated at a fast clip. 

"Mister Creevey, do you know why I am bound here?" 

He shook his head. A sad expression coalesced on her face. Dennis formulated one guess as to what she would say. 

"Because I never stopped mourning for my father. Even after I married Geoffrey, and Geoffrey provided me a wonderful life, I could not find a means to end my grief. I di… passed thinking of my father and how I missed him so, Mister Creevey. I think that is why I tarry at his grave," Mrs. Hughes confirmed what he thought. 

"You were young when he died, so it makes sense. What about your mother and sister?" He inquired. 

"Father's death devastated mother. Although Uncle Edward cared for her, she… five years later she followed her husband. Margery and I got left in the care of our uncle, and he did look after us. My cousins became like sisters. He arranged suitable marriages for all of us. Margery married William Holloway and went to live with him in Ireland. I saw little of her after that, though we wrote often. She, too, never ceased mourning our father. It darkened our days, Mister Creevey." 

"I understand your loss," he quietly rejoined. 

She granted him an askance look. 

"My older brother got killed fighting Voldemort's forces three years ago. He was my best mate, ma'am. It hurts to think about him sometimes." 

"I can feel your grief," the woman said and stepped closer to him. "I pray you, Mister Creevey, do not let it bind to this world. You must find solace if you can. Trust that if your brother loved you in life, it never ended. It never can." 

"Thanks, but what about you? Now that you know about your father, can it release you?" Dennis asked. 

"Perhaps… if I could only but see him one last time, my heart would know peace." 

"Can you leave here? I mean, can you move around?" 

"I never had cause to make the attempt," she glumly stated. 

"But now you do. What if I brought back a map and showed you how to get to Hogwarts? Think you could go see him? Maybe spend some time with him? It'd mean the world to Thomas. I know it would!" Dennis offered. 

"I… honestly, I do not know. My heart languished here for so long…" 

"But it doesn't have to, Missus Hughes. I swear to you… I swear on my memories of Colin your father is up in Scotland. You're a ghost, so it shouldn't be a hard trip for you if I show you how to get there. You just need to try!" 

Dennis felt desperate to get her to agree. The misery caused by Thomas North's murder amounted to more than five hundred years of grief among his immediate family. Half a millennia of sorrow seemed too high a price one family should pay. He truly understood that price because he and his parents paid it as well. The only saving grace came in the fact Colin did not feel the need to remain earthbound after death. 

The woman slowly nodded her head and said: "Bring me the directions, Mister Creevey. At the least I can make the attempt. It just may be I waited this long to meet you so I could make my final farewells to my father." 

"Could be," Dennis half-heartedly agreed. 

Dennis did not believe in fate. Granted, he heard about the prophecy of Professor Trelawny regarding Harry Potter, but it did not sound so much like a prophecy as a series of conditional statements based on easy suppositions. Given at the time the Dark Lord rampaged through England and his forces terrorized Europe and parts of America, the prophecy did not seem like much of stretch. In fact, it appeared more of set-up for Voldemort: a trap of sorts. It got him to act against his own interests. His conceit, fear of death, and mortal vanity made him vulnerable to so-called prophecies. Sometimes Dennis wondered if Dumbledore, himself, did not enchant Trelawny to make the prophecy. It seemed like a trick the late headmaster of Hogwarts would pull. 

"Missus Hughes," Dennis continued after a few seconds of pondering. "I'll return tomorrow morning when the Gardens open. I'll bring a map and show you where Hogwarts is located. I think you need to see your father as much as he needs to see you." 

Surprisingly, the ghost of Lucia Hughes smiled at him. 


	6. Chapter 6

Dennis used the magical map of Nottingham to find a place to sleep for night, and one that could provide meals in the evening and morning. However, after spending several hours in his room, one that took almost all of his remaining galleons, the taste for a pub burger and chips crept across his tongue. As Dennis put the finishing touches on the map he would show Lucia Hughes, the hunger for a destructively delicious pub hamburger took firm hold over his mind. Hence, he consulted the magicked map of Nottingham to find a place to eat. A check of his remaining muggle currency made him smile.

The Lion's Rose boasted one of the best, simple menus in west Nottingham. Moreover, it got situated on the same bus line as the inn where Dennis roomed. With his day ride pass still in effect, the young wizard made a hasty retreat to the pub of his choosing. The transport took just over ten minutes to deposit him close to the doorstep. When he entered, Dennis found himself in wonderful world. 

Stepping through the double-door system led to an interior covered over in various layers of wood and varnish. The air hung heavy with scent of ten thousand pints sloshed and spilled, more fish deep fried than one could count, and aroma of sandwiches from days gone by. A long bar stood at the rear with enough stools to seat ten people. Along the exterior and leftmost wall, a series of booths awaited patrons. Tables draped over with red-and-white checkered cloth littered the area between the bar and the booths. To Dennis' left a separate room hosted a billiards table and several dart boards. A few old, seeming ancient video games lined one wall. Memories from childhood when his father would take Colin and him on his delivery rounds reminded him of the close, crowded, noisy, but mostly fun a pub environment. He began to drool as he made his way to a small table toward the far end of the pub. Few of the other many patrons paid him any mind. 

Within a minute of sitting down facing toward the entrance, a rather harried woman who appeared to be in her late thirties approached and handed him menu. Dennis never bothered to open it. Instead, he said: "Um, Fanta orange if you've got it, and a pub burger… medium well, all the fixings, and some chips. And can I get a bottle of HP?" 

"I don't recognize you," The woman said in a confused manner. 

"Just a visitor, but been 'round to a few pubs with me pa when I was young. All I had to do was stick my head in and get a good sniff. Already knew what I wanted." 

"Well, good on you, but we're out of Fanta today. Delivery never came. Will a Tizer do?" 

"Fine and good with me." 

"Be 'round with your Tizer in a jiff. Be 'bout ten minutes or so on the burger and chips," she informed him. 

Dennis nodded and smiled. He sat and watched as people talked and enjoyed themselves. More customers arrived, along with his can of Tizer and a half-pint glass. He noted one group of five because it included a long, lean young man of clear African descent who brought to mind some of Dennis' former schoolmates. Thoughts of Blaise, Dean, Lee, and Roddy floated through his head as the group consisting of two couples and the dark-skinned man occupied a booth to Dennis' left. He continuously kept glancing as the table of friends as he waited for his meal and sipped on his soda. The African young man fascinated him. His eyes looked Egyptian. Dennis hoped he did not appear too obvious with his staring. Even after his plate arrived, his eyes kept darting toward the man. 

Half the way through his meal and half the way through a bottle of HP Sauce, the young man got up from the booth. Dennis believed he meant to visit the loo. Instead, the young man angled straight toward him. Dressed in black jeans, dark trainers with gray socks, and a Gorillaz print tee-shirt, he looked mysterious and slightly threatening. Without so much as a word of leave, he sat down opposite Dennis. The dark face studied him. 

"Alright. You've been putting eyes on me since I got here. Do I know you?" He asked in a melodic tenor voice. 

"No," Dennis truthfully answered. 

"Then what?" 

Dennis shrugged and said: "You look like some mates I knew back in school." 

"This racist?" The young man growled the words leaned forward. 

"No, no. Not at all. You're just… well, not foreign… not like that, but… your eyes." 

The staccato reply seemed to perplex the uninvited guest. They sat staring at one another. Dennis could see, from his peripheral vision, the man's friends watching the interaction. He began to review the exceptions to the secrecy statutes for all magical kind in the United Kingdom. Nervousness edged through him. 

"My eyes, huh? What about 'em?" The unnamed stranger insisted. 

"Knew a bloke in enforcement, see, and his eyes looked like yours. Said he got 'em from his Egyptian mother. I was just thinking you look Egyptian being all narrow like you are… like them carvings and paintings from the pyramids," Dennis verbally recalled what Kingsley Shacklebolt once told him. 

The mouth with the full, dark lips crooked into a half smile. Dennis raised his eyebrows. He could not tell where the conversation might lead. 

"You having one on me or… maybe you fancy me?" The man asked and his voice dropped down in volume. 

"Beg pardon?" The young wizard blurted. 

"The way you said what my eyes looked like sounded a bit more than – I don't know – interested." 

Dennis read in the past about gay men who got set up and then beaten up. He damned himself for his inability to stop staring at the striking face and features. Just as Dennis slid his hand into his pocket to prepare to defend himself, the man extended a hand across the table. 

"Cameron Vall. And you'd be…?" The young man apparently named Cameron asked. 

"Creevey… uh, Dennis Creevey," Dennis said, removed his hand from his pocket, and then reached across the table with it. 

Dennis felt a buzzing in his head when Cameron accept it and squeezed it. The hand felt as soft as it did strong. Long fingers wrapped around the back of his hand. He gave it a small shake before releasing it. 

"So, uh, Denny Creevey, what are you doing here Nottingham? Never saw you 'round before and you don't sound like one of us," Cameron inquired. 

"Research at the Archives on the North family," he stated his real business. "Came across something odd and wanted to sort it out." 

Cameron's eyes narrowed and he said: "Kind of young to be an investigator, aren't you?" 

Dennis shrugged and replied: "Didn't know there had to be any age to be interested in something. What about you? What're you into?" 

A wicked grin crossed his mouth before he asked: "You mean now or before I came in here?" 

The statement hit Dennis like a someone dropped a full brickbat on his head. However, old fears from his school days surfaced. During the last two months of his fifth year after he got outed, several of the boys teased him with fake advances. The did it to publicly humiliated him, and it worked on several occasions. Dennis felt a burning need for a close relationship with another person since the death of his brother, and it dulled his senses and wits. He became a target until he returned home for summer holiday. It continued again in the fall, but he became more jaded by that point. Plus, the mandatory personal defense classes Hogwarts instituted helped. Trying to explain his sexuality to his parents while they continued to grieve for Colin became a near impossible task. Thus, Cameron's double-entendre put him on further edge. Dennis leaned back in his chair. 

"Whoa, mate. Relax," Cameron quietly said and held up his hands. "You just seemed like an interested bloke, and… well, I wanted to know how interested." 

"Interested in what?" 

Around them people laughed and talked while glasses clinked along with forks, knives, and spoons. More than three-quarters of the booths and tables seated patrons, and not a single stool remained open at the bar. Yet amid all the cheery noise of a pub, a strange silence settled over the table. Cameron started to stand. 

"Look, sorry if I read this wrong, but the way you was staring at me, I just thought you wanted some get-to-know-me time." 

Dennis hesitated for a moment while the young man got to his feet, then his brain scrambled and forced his mouth to say: "I'm gay, if that's what you want to know." 

Cameron halted his movements. Then he slowly settled back down to his chair. The two young men regarded one another for a few seconds. 

"So, um, mind if I snag a chip. I'm a right git for HP… like it seems you are," the re-seated young man inquired. 

"You get one," Dennis agreed and held up a single finger. 

"Any one I want?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

As expected, Cameron reached out and took the longest one from the pile and completely coated it in HP Sauce. 

"That supposed to tell me something?" Dennis queried with less hostility in his voice. 

"Depends on what you want it to mean," Cameron parried and smirked. 

"Um, most of the… chips I've had – and I've not had a lot mind you – were all, um… average size. Not too long. Not too short. Um… all from, ah, white 'tatoes." 

Cameron's grin grew wider. Dennis did not know the rules to the game his new guest initiated. However, he felt as though it represented some sort of code. Before anything else could get said, the waitress came up to the table. She wanted to know if Cameron wanted a replacement pint for the one he abandoned with his friends. The woman said they drank it for him. Cameron ordered another drink. Dennis ordered another Tizer. After she left, Cameron eyed him with a devilish look. 

"So, now I'm really curious, how many… chips have you had?" 

"Me? Just five." 

"Five!" Cameron half-barked. "Where you been living mate? In a cave?" 

"Kind of, I guess," Dennis said and shrugged again. His nerves twanged at revealing too much information, and small snort, almost a giggle, emerged. "Went to a, ah, private school up in Scotland." 

"Oh, posh life, huh?" 

"No. Scholarship, more or less. My dad's a milk runner in St. Alban's, so can't say it's been posh for me." 

The two lapsed into silence again. They regard one another, but it felt less guarded. Dennis felt himself relax, and he allowed a small grin to form. 

"Had a rough go in school that last two years when everything came out. Sorry if I acted like a twit. Just sort of a reaction I picked up," he explained. 

"Right along there with you. Try being African and gay in an industry town like this. If they don't hate you for one thing, then it's t'other. Bonus for them if they can hate you for both," Cameron told him without a hint of mirth in his tone. He also appeared very serious. "They all know me here, so when I caught you making eyes at me, I… felt safe coming up to you." 

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that, Cameron…" 

"Just Cam. Only my parents call me Cameron," He instructed, then seemingly switched gears. "So you know: I came up to you to find out if you were gonna try and beat the shite out of me when I headed out. Wouldn't be the first time a facker tried that." 

"Do I look like I can beat the shite out of anyone?" Dennis countered. 

"Don't know, mate. Some of you skinny blokes are wicked strong and fast. Never can tell who might be training and sparring on the side." 

"Well, you got the skinny part right." 

Then they laughed together. The conversation centered on what they experienced while growing up gay. Dennis began consuming the last of his meal, and Cameron assisted with the chips and HP Sauce. The wizard tried to be circumspect, but Cameron wanted details. When the subject of Colin finally surfaced, it changed the tenor of their talk. Dennis could not hide the emotion that rose up with any mention of his departed older brother. Cameron watched him with a sympathetic expression. 

"I can tell you two was close. It's written all over you, Denny. Sorry you had to go through that. Can't imagine what it's be like if my sister or brother went out in an accident like that," Cameron offered a form of condolences. 

"Yeah, thanks. After that, school just got worse and worse for me. Ended up hanging out with the teachers and instructors mostly. Learned a lot, but can't say it was a lot of fun," Dennis attempted to cap the subject. 

"That why you started investigating?" 

"A little. Doing this for a friend, really, to be honest. Heading back to the school tomorrow to let him know what I found out. Dug up some important bits about his family's past." 

"Can't believe you'd go to the Archive without someone forcing you. I got so sick of school by the time finished. Never wanted to go university 'cause of it," Cameron stated. 

"So, what do you do?" Dennis shift the subject onto his guest. 

He learned Cameron went into the trades and apprenticed to become a licensed plumber. Cameron leaned forward at one point and whispered that plumbers usually made more money than a college professor. The news impressed Dennis. As their talk meandered, a young woman came to the table. 

"Okay, Cam, I guess you found desert," she coyly remarked. 

"Ha, ha," Cameron droned. "Denny, this Julia. Julia… Denny." 

"Nice to meet you," she said and held out a hand. 

"Likewise," Dennis said as he accepted it and gave it a small shake. 

"We're heading over to Tadger's…" Julia, a well-figure woman with long auburn hair, and creamy brown eyes. 

"Tadger's?" Dennis snorted. 

"It's what we call it. Just a pool hall, but some of the guys there…" she replied while her face turned a light shade of pink. 

"Think I'll stay here talking to Denny… if you don't mind," Cameron said and turned to him. 

"Yeah, yeah. It's been nice having someone to talk to while I eat," Dennis readily agreed. 

"Um, Denny, so you know: Cam has a thing for blondes, so I'm not sure he means just talk," Julia warned him. 

"Fack off," Cameron grumbled through a grin. 

"Well, it's probably a good thing I'm a ginger then," he played along. 

"No, that only makes it ten times worse for you," she intoned with a wink. 

Dennis felt his face heat up. Cameron and Julia both chuckled at his physical response. 

"He's a cute one, Cam," Julia remarked when they eased on the snickering. "Don't forget we're meeting at Anne's tomorrow for the movies." 

"Got it here," Cameron answered and tapped his head. 

"Okay, you know where will be if, ah, well… whatever. Come join us for pool if you want," she offered. "Nice meeting you, Denny." 

"Okay, sure. I'm shit at the game, but… maybe. A pleasure, Julia," Dennis rejoined and stood a little as his father trained him to do when a woman made an exit. 

"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, Julia. Tell everyone not to wait for me tonight," Cameron answered in a very definite manner without standing. 

Cameron did not make a promise so much as a prediction. The two young men did not go to the pool hall. Instead, the next morning Dennis awoke to find a handsome brown face staring at him with coy smile on the lips. 

"You looked so peaceful in your sleep," Cameron said at a low volume. "I didn't want to wake you." 

"What tie…" Dennis began to say and yawned. 

"A little before nine. Did you know you talk in your sleep?" The naked young man next to him asked. 

"Yeah, my roommates used to complain about that," he admitted. 

"Didn't sound like English." 

"Probably Latin. Had a hell of time keeping up with it." 

"You really did go a private school. They're the only ones who teach Latin anymore," Cameron said in surprise. 

The small inn room consisting of a single-sized bed, an end table, a small dresser, and a washstand felt comfortable and warm. Dennis' backpack sat on a chair next to a tiny round table. The cheap room did not even come with a television, but Dennis never cared about that. His magic would likely burn it out, like the one at home, if he turned it on. Clothes littered the floor and not his alone, along with a few plastic wrappers. A hand slid along his chest. It made his body tingle and respond. 

"How, um, did an Aero Bar stack up against chips?" Cameron playfully inquired. 

Dennis grinned and replied: "The best chocolate I ever had." 

"Ever have chocolate before?" 

"No, but always wanted to try some. I think you set the standard really high, mate." 

Dennis got rewarded with a broad, toothy smile. 

"You're really handsome, Cam. Beautiful, really," the young wizard said in quiet, thoughtful voice. "And you're a lot nicer than almost anyone else I ever met." 

"You just met the wrong people, Denny, and I can say all the same things about you. Plus, that was the most intense sex I've had in a long time," his new friend rejoined. "Think I could talk you into moving to Nottingham?" 

"After one… night. Come on, Cam. You don't even know me, to be honest." 

"That's the point, isn't it? I want to get to know you a lot better. There's something different about you. Something I can't quite figure out, but I want to. It's not like you're hiding something, but there's… I don't know, a part of you that seems… walled off." 

Dennis shrugged. Through the night Cameron hid nothing. He took Dennis to places Dennis never knew existed, and the temptation to discover more called to him like a siren song. Moreover, he found Cameron to be attentive, determined, and gentle. It became readily evident Dennis lacked experience, and the dark-skinned young man took that aspect in stride. The wizard felt fulfilled in ways he did not know he could. He pressed a hand against Cameron's chest. The difference in skin could not be any starker, yet it did not present a detriment. 

"By Barnaby, I love your color," Dennis whispered in appreciation. 

"Some people might take that to be racist," Cameron warned. 

"Do you?" 

The man smiled again and shook his head. Then he tilted his head. Dennis' lips met Cameron's. Although not as feral as what they shared during the night, it felt important. It communicated to Dennis in surprising ways. He felt the magic in his body react. 

"Oh! What's that?" His friend teased as their faces continued to press together. 

"My… magic wand," Dennis said and giggled at the secret play on words. 

For the next hour they reenacted the previous night's performance. With daylight pouring in through the window, Dennis committed to memory everything he saw. Cameron's body awed him. The personality it contained even more so. The temptation to loll in Nottingham continued to worm through his brain as he enjoyed what Cameron offered yet again. In more respects than he could count, a large part of him seemed actualized. Although people might criticize him for spending the night with a virtual stranger, Dennis shoved that concern aside and gave into his desires and wants. 

"Denny?" Cameron softly said his name as they stood at the washbasin and cleaned off the sweat. 

"Hmm?" 

"Think you might come back around this way anytime soon?" 

"Uh, what do you think?" Dennis answered in a droll manner. 

Cameron smiled. Dennis continued to dry the amazing body standing before him. The young man made him feel skinnier than ever, but it did not seem to matter. 

"Now that I think about it, I'll probably be coming back fairly often as I try to sort out this investigation. I got some good stuff I need to report, but… this ain't over. There's still a lot I need to find out." 

"Think you might need a place to stay when you do?" Cameron not-so-transparently queried. 

"Do I hear an offer?" Dennis countered 

"You do." 

"Then I'm gonna need an address." 

"And numbers," Cameron continued. 

"Only got the phone at my parents' house. I don't have a good track record with mobiles," Dennis said and tried to sound embarrassed. 

"Loose 'em a lot, huh?" 

"And break 'em and dunk 'em in water and make a right mess out of them all the time." 

"My older brother is the same way. Can't keep a mobile working to save his arse," the dark-skinned young man said through a chuckle. "So, are you coming back 'round tonight?" 

"Don't know yet. Depends on what I find out. Got to go through some more records, and I need to make a report. Then I need to find out what Mister Odpadki has planned for next week," the light-skinned young man returned. 

"Garbage collection, huh?" 

"Waste removal. What we deal with isn't your typical bloody trash, and that's the reason we get paid so good." 

"Alright, then. Give me a ring when you get the chance to let me know what you've got going on." 

"Count on it," Dennis promised. 

Even after Cameron took his leave and Dennis finished altering a map, the young wizard continued to think about the young African-descended man. He understood he fell into the somewhat sordid negative characterization of gay men and their penchant for sex. However, given that Dennis just experienced his first tryst in over a year, he thought it placed him outside of that categorization. Even while packing his belongings the wizard tried to sort through what it could all mean. Dennis knew, however, he really wanted to spend more time with Cameron. 

"I get where your mum was coming from, Séamus," he muttered as he vacated the small room. 

Well past noon Dennis arrived at Hogwarts. It seemed impossible the castle stood as quietly as it did. The giant squid floated languidly in the lake as clouds hurried past in the sky. They also seemed to be gathering, and Dennis could sense a proper Scottish storm collecting itself. He made his way through the castle, waved at Mr. Filch who informed him he should not be on the grounds, and traversed to the promontory. It appeared deserted. The mortal young man grin at the deceptive appearance. 

"Lord North?" He promptly said the name when he stood in the proper location. 

"I hardly qualify as such anymore, Mister Creevey," the somewhat hollow voice rejoined. "I assume by your appearance here you bring news." 

Dennis could not hide the grin that took firm root on his mouth. He angled his head so he could see the outline of Thomas North. He looked exactly the same as before. 

"I would hazard a guess you made progress?" The ghost inquired and nearly sounded impatient. 

"Yeah, some, but I discovered something even more important," he replied. 

"Mister Creevey, I possess time enough to spare, but dawdling still annoys me." 

"Fine, fine. Okay, I learned a lot about your family history. Your brother Edward built you a fine tomb where they buried all the other Earls of Nottingham. Your wife is buried with you. Sorry to say, but she didn't last long after you got killed," Dennis reported the most salient highlights. 

"My dear Katherine," Thomas whispered the sentence. 

"She didn't… well, she's not a ghost from what I could find, but I did meet someone who knows you." 

Thomas did not speak, but subtly shifted his head. 

"I met Lucia." 

"Your jest is in horrible taste," Thomas growled. 

"Not a joke, Thomas. I met your oldest daughter and spoke to her just this morning," Dennis defended his news. "She never stopped morning you. She married and had children, but I don't think you ever left her mind." 

"Sweet Lucia?" 

Dennis nodded at the supposed question. 

"How terrible for her to share the same fate as I," Thomas moaned. "This is too much, Dennis." 

"Maybe, but I showed her how to get to Hogwarts and this very spot. She said she's going to leave the cemetery and come straight here to see you," the wizard stated. 

Thomas gaped at him. 

"I'm not pulling your leg, Thomas. She really is going to try and come here. She seemed pretty set on it this morning. Can't say how long it will take it her, but I'd bet my last galleon you’re going to see her again." 

"Mister Creevey, I cannot… how can I… if this comes to pass, I will be forever in your debt!" 

The wind picked up, a sure sign of the building storm, but the two men remained standing. The lake looked gray instead of blue, and the water birds grew quiet. Yet on the spot on the cliff all seemed cheery. Dennis smiled at his incorporeal friend. 

"You don't owe me anything, Thomas, and there's still a lot more I've got to find out. Someone killed you and tried burying you in the history books. But I don't think they counted on your brother. He kept your name alive. Lucia said he grieved for you as well. Your death caught everyone by surprise, and now I know there's a ton more to dig up… so to speak." 

"But even should you find nothing further and Lucia makes her way to me… that is the one of greatest gifts I can imagine. Our reunion will bring me untold joy. In that you shall earn my eternal gratitude," the spirit of the man pressed the point. 

Dennis simply shrugged. 

"You are proving yourself a remarkable young wizard, Dennis, and a far better friend than I have known these past two-hundred and forty years. I know what you claim to be your motivations for lending me this aid, but you have acted far above what any could expect." 

"Okay, enough, Thomas. I get it, and you’re welcome. To be honest, I'm getting my fair share out of this, too. Met a bloke in Nottingham yesterday. Let's just say we hit it off real well," and Dennis could feel his cheeks turn warm. 

"You are as deserving of your allotment of happiness as any, Mister Creevey, and I sincerely hope that association blooms for you." 

"Yeah, me, too," the living young man quipped. Then he shook his head to stow the distracting thoughts before he physically reacted. "Oi, let me show you what else I learned." 

Despite knowing he raced against the impending storms, and Scotland could brew them in record time, Dennis went over the sheets he printed and gave greater details about his discussions with Lucia. It did not take a master sorcerer to see how much the news of his daughter and family impacted Thomas. While it did not yield any clue as to the cause and culprit of his murder, it lent a happier aspect to the whole affair. Some of the two and half century old misery got dispelled. 

When the rain began to spatter on the parchment, Dennis quickly rolled it up and shoved it in his backpack. Then he bid a hasty good-bye and retreated toward the castle. Thomas stood facing the growing onslaught as if it meant nothing to him, which in reality it did not. He also seemed a bit brighter to Dennis. However, the rain drove the circumstances. The castle beckoned to him. Dennis went in search of his favorite professor. 

"I'm happy to report, Mister Creevey, that Professor Flitwick is enjoying some well-earned time away from the school. He is off visiting family, not that it is any of your concern," Headmistress McGonagall informed him in her austere and stiff manner. 

"Yeah, he deserves it," he mumbled. 

"How kind of you to concur." 

Dennis stared at the elderly woman who did not seem to age a day since he first met her over seven years before. She also continued to wear her emerald-colored velvet robes and hat. The square spectacles rested on the end of her nose, and she gazed downward through them. Dennis only visited Headmaster Dumbledore a few times in the office, and it hardly seemed able to contain the man. In her own fashion, Minerva McGonagall filled the space as well. During his last three years of school, the aged witch slowly transformed the office and title into her own. Hogwarts prospered under her care and watch following the devastating war. 

"Filius led me to believe you've taken it on yourself to investigate the happenings of one Silent Thom the ghost?" The headmistress asked in an offhand manner. 

"Thomas Lester Jonathan, Lord North, Earl of Nottingham," Dennis recited the full name of the man. "Yeah, I did. Someone did him wrong, and I want to try and help set it right." 

"Commendable of you." 

“No, professor, what happened to Thomas is really wrong,” he emphatically added. 

Ten minutes later Headmistress McGonagall gazed at Dennis with a fairly surprised look. Everyone knew the story of The Bloody Baron and The Gray Lady. Neither of them, however, got sentenced to an afterlife of near silence. In the back of his mind, Dennis began to wonder about the stories of the other ghosts, save Sir Nicholas who let everyone know all the time the tale of woe concerning his botched beheading. 

“I say admirable as well as commendable, Mister Creevey. Perhaps we should look into the lives – or former lives – of the ghosts to see what we can do for them,” said the elderly woman in both at canny and thoughtful manner. “Take Peeves for example…” 

“He’s happier as a spirit then he was as an alive person,” Dennis interjected. 

“But surely you know about him?” 

The young man nodded, and his mouth stayed closed. After he thought for a few seconds, he asked: “I bet it’s a safe… bet that Professor Dumbledore knew Peeves’ story.” 

“Not that he told me,” McGonagall rejoined. “I’d wager you managed to get the story out of Peeves.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Either ways it’s not my story to tell even if I did know. Like I said: Peeves likes his, well, I guess life… afterlife, or whatever it is he’s… living.” 

Headmistress McGonagall smirked at the tortured manner it took to talk about the various haunts and specters of Hogwarts. Dennis knew Peeves could be very problematic for the administrators of the castle. Argus Filch waged a decades-long battle with the poltergeist, and never made a single centimeter of headway. Moreover, Peeves respected very few of the teachers, some of whom he flagrantly taunted for both how and what they taught. In both the spring and fall Peeves would disrupt as many of the start of term classes as he could fit into his schedule. Most of the students severely disliked the poltergeist, yet that only seemed to feed his antics. Regardless, Dennis would not take part in exorcising Peeves from the castle. Hence, his knowledge of the spirit would never see the light of day without a direct request from Peeves. 

“Peeves enjoys himself far too much. He’s a bloody menace half the time,” the current leader of the school grumbled, and seemed to hunker in her tall high-backed chair as if the pesky specter might suddenly appear. 

“But has he ever hurt anyone?” Dennis verbally parried. 

“He’ll throws the odd item at someone every now and again. He’s knocked my hat off more times than I can count.” 

“Yeah, it’s annoying, but does he do any real harm?” 

“Are you defending Peeves, Dennis?” Headmistress McGonagall asked, but it sounded more like an accusation. 

“Yeah, I am. He’s my friend,” Dennis soundly replied. 

The old woman eyed him for a few moments and then said: “You may be the only person in living memory who ever said that.” 

"He treated me a fair sight better than most of the people I went to school with here, so I sort of owe him," he replied in a scornful manner. 

"Mister Creevey, perhaps you view those events with a jaundiced eye," she tartly rejoined. 

"Oh, gee, ever get around to asking yourself why one of your students hung out with paintings and ghost so much? You didn't seem to care a whole lot…" 

"I needed to look after an entire school, Dennis. While I grant you suffered a disproportionate amount, you cannot claim to be entirely innocent. You and Mister Ackerly did carry on in an unseemly manner, need I remind you?" 

"No, we didn't. We kept it as quiet as we could. It was the others who made a show of it. I think what you heard is a little inaccurate! Not that you spent any bleeding time looking after the house you were the headmistress of!" Dennis all but berated the woman. 

Professor McGonagall appeared shocked at his statements. One hand pressed against her chest below her throat as if deprived of breath. Dennis heard her claims while a student that Gryffindor House needed to bear her split attention for the good of the school until such time as she found a new headmaster for the house. It took her over two years to find the replacement, and during that time Dennis suffered the worst of his torment. He always faulted the woman for failing to properly look after the Gryffindor students and him 

"Don't," Dennis jumped in as she opened her mouth. "I don't want any excuses or apologies, Headmistress. What's done is done and can't be undone. I learned long ago who really cared for me and who didn't. I made my peace with it… including my failings. I suggest you do the same." 

"Mister Creevey!" McGonagall gasped. 

Dennis stood and placed the napkin on her desk. 

"Please, give my regards to Professor Flitwick when he returns. I don't think I'll be coming back here for a while 'til I learn something," he told her. 

"When you do, Dennis, I would appreciate if you could make some time to speak with me. I'd like to… clear the air between us," she requested in her usual stentorian manner. 

"Maybe, if we're actually going to talk, but, no, if you're just going to try and lecture me. Those days are over, Professor. Really over." 

She nodded her head. Without another word, even a farewell, Dennis exited her office. It continued to irritate him she viewed the events during his student years as mostly his fault. The automatic stone stairs took him to the ground level. From there, Dennis aimed even lower. He navigated the master stairwell until he stood on the dirt far below. 

"Luminos," he said and held up his wand. 

The area lit up. He glanced around until he saw the small white patch on the ground. He took a minute to collect himself. 

"Peeves?" He said the name at a low volume. 

"I wondered when you would come around to make leisure with an old friend?" Peeve's nasally voice whined. "You did not seem at all pleased as you left McGonagall's office." 

"No, not really," Dennis replied as he turned around to find the ancient poltergeist floating ten centimeters off the ground. 

"Methinks the Weavey Creevey is still vexed?" Peeves taunted him. 

"What it my fault, Peeves?" The living man burst. "Was the way they treated me fault? Did I do something to really deserve all that bloody grief?" 

Peeves floated closer to him, and his smile faded at the same time. 

"Children are cruel," Peeves said without any semblance of humor. "In my time I've seen such tragedies enacted by children against one another that thou would scarce believe. Oft I am called callous and wanting of manners, yet I say to thee, Creevey the Snot, never once did I partake in a jest that lead another taking his own life. This I have seen too much." 

The statements from the poltergeist struck Dennis like thunder, even while a peel of it rang through castle from the storm outside. 

"Thou art not the first to seek comfort among the departed that roam these halls, as I've told you in the past. And, true, sport I made of thee, but I say again you are stronger for it. That you return to lend succor to those of us who haunt these stones is a testament to your grit. As for thy question: what matter does it hold any longer upon those whom you can lay blame for your troubles? Thou survived, Creevey, and for what more could thee ask?" Peeves continued in his somber manner. 

"How about someone to say they're sorry for what they did?" Dennis shot back as an old anger bubbled in his stomach again. 

The specter hove in close to his face. A cold draft came off the stern visage of the poltergeist. Dennis could make little of the expression. 

"And then what?" Peeves queried. 

Dennis remained silent. 

"You knowest my fate, Creevey, and yet all these years I never begged for apology even once. That there are none left to offer any is of no consequence,” the poltergeist sneered at him. “Fie on it, I say. Fie! I hold my own esteem of greater value than whatever remonstrations could be proffered. Think well on what it is thou truly desires. That which cannot lend thee increase, cast aside, Snot, and think no more on it lest it hitch you to a woeful fate!" 

Peeves then shot straight up through the stairwell and disappeared. He left behind a cold young man who felt more like a child at present. The poltergeist neither teased nor taunted, but seemed to speak truly from his heart. It came as brutal to Dennis, but the words stuck in his brain. The young wizard sighed. 

"Still throwing things at my head, eh, Peeves?" His whispered. 

With the words still echoing inside of him, Dennis began his ascent after extinguishing his wand. Peeves never pulled a single punch in all the time the young man knew the spirit. He proved again what power lay in the thousand years of his existence. Moreover, Peeves did so with an uncommon seriousness. Dennis realized he would spend the weekend left to him pondering the statements. Once he reached the main foyer, Dennis apparated to Nottingham, and then to the Ministry. From there he took the short hop to home. 


	7. Chapter 7

The investigation into Lord Thomas North’s demise crawled nearly to a halt. Mr. Odpadki took a greater liking to Dennis and began to increase the number of specialized waste removals. Dennis worked all five of the weekdays the following week after discovering Thomas’ daughter continued to exist in their world. On the odd afternoon he got free, he would go to either the Ministry library or back to Nottingham to conduct research, but the hours spent did not yield much. He enjoyed a meal with Cameron during the midweek night, but could not stay to enjoy other pleasures.

June ended and July became the new calendar. 

“Love, still researching?” His mother asked from the doorway as he sat in his room on a hot Thursday evening. Thunder rumbled in the distance after she spoke. 

“Just doesn’t add up, Mum. I think I’m going need to talk to Thomas again and try get some information out of him.” Dennis told her. 

During the last week of June he got forced into explaining his long daily absences from home. They learned about his investigation into the Hogwarts’ ghost’s death. For reasons Dennis could not fathom, that barely caused them to raise an eyebrow. He suspected they thought his inquiry into the Lord North situation would not lead to any danger since it went unsolved for almost two-hundred and fifty years. However, Dennis also let slip about meeting Cameron in Nottingham, and they took immediate interest in that subject. Dennis spent a grueling evening under intense questioning about Cameron Vall. The saving grace came when Dennis told them Cameron apprenticed to become a plumber, a vocation both his parents could appreciate and understand. He did not need to tell them he never told Cameron about his status as a wizard. 

“But the curse?” She warily inquired. 

“Won’t ever affect me,” he mumbled, and that triggered a new thought in his head. He furrowed his brow and said: “Just came up with something. Thomas told me he was a wizard: a lord who used his magic when he could.” 

He paused. 

“And?” His mother prompted. 

“So, that means whoever did this to him was also a wizard… or a witch, and probably knew he was one, too. I wonder if Thomas knew this person was magical?” 

“You should ask him.” 

“’Cept the curse means he can’t talk about it,” he reminded her. 

“Well, you said you found his daughter,” and Jill Creevey still sounded perplexed by the notion the woman did not exist in the world in a proper fashion, “maybe she knows something.” 

“I kind of asked if she knew anything, but she didn't say much.” 

“Did you ask her about other witches and wizards she might’ve known?” 

The blank stare Dennis presented his mother answered for him. She shook her head while a smile grin played on her lips. Any discussion that touched on magic tended to raise other subjects touching on magic. The woman's grin slipped into a frown. 

“Now what, Mum?” Dennis inquired in hesitant voice as he shifted around on his bed. 

“No more putting your coveralls in the wash bin ‘les you're going to wash them right then and there. Scared the life out of me when I lifted the cover and they hopped out and ran across the room. What in the name of god where you dealing with?” His mother complained, explained, and questioned. 

“Got more work removing sludge pits. Seems Mister Youngblood let others know what we can handle. Mister Odpadki was pretty happy about that. He gets to charge a pretty fair amount for those jobs,” he told her. 

“And I hope he’s paying you fairly out of that!” 

“Mum, you already know how much he’s paying. I actually have a real bank account now. It’s got real money in it!” Denis happily stated. 

“Well, does that mean you’re going to chip in some now? Water charge is getting pretty high what with you taking more showers and washing clothes,” she said with more than one question in her words. 

“Yeah, I think I can,” he tentatively agreed while staring at the ceiling and doing a rough calculation. “Um, how does twenty-five quid a week sound?” 

“What’s that in your money?” 

Dennis scrunched up his face as he did a rough calculation since the exchange rate changed all the time by small increments and replied: “Ah… little over five galleons.” 

“Well, you said he’s paying you about two galleons an hour… sixteen a day if you do an eight-hour stretch, meaning…” and she, too, tilted her head up for a second. “And that’s about eighty galleons a week.” 

“But it’s not every day, Mum, and not always a whole day. I’d say I’m making ‘round eight to fifteen galleons a day right now.” 

“Let’s split difference and say eleven for an average, so that’s still fifty-five a week.” 

“Oh, alright, fifty pounds a week,” he said before she could draw out the negotiation. 

His mother looked affronted. 

“What? Seventy-five?” Dennis quickly increased his offer. 

“No, Love. We’re not trying to soak you for money when you just got your first honest job,” she said in an semi-aggrieved manner. “Dennis, twenty-five quid is more than fair for your share. Plus, you do help out around the house a good bit when you're home. I’m only trying to ease you into getting used to paying for your own keep.” 

He nodded, and it seemed another topic about which he remained woefully ignorant. It came as a shock to him after the Battle of Hogwarts to find out the school paid all the fees for both Colin and him to attend. Moreover, they also paid a survivor’s benefit to his parents when Colin got killed in the war. He did not know how much it cost to bury his brother. He did not even like to think about it. At the same time, he never fully appreciated how much it might cost to raise a child. Dennis heard his parents complain about bills from time to time, but not often. The family seemed to live well within their modest means. 

“Thirty,” Dennis said after a second of reflection. 

“Alright, thirty quid,” his mother agreed. “But you let us know straight off if things get tight for you. Not sure what you’re going to do with it, but seems sensible for you to start banking your wages.” 

“Probably get my own place someday,” her son said in an off-hand fashion. Dennis saw her reaction. “Mum, honestly. You think I’m going to live with you and Dad forever?” 

The woman blinked a few times. 

“Maybe you did, but… well, what if I want to have Cam over?” 

“It’d be lovely to have him ‘round for supper,” she responded in the genial British mother way that made absolutely no promises whatsoever. 

Dennis continued to stare at her in a pointed way. She started to shift around on her feet. Then she crossed her arms over her upper stomach. It took another two seconds before his mother’s eyes went wide with understanding. 

“Ooh, that!” She blurted the words. “That. Well… that. I see what you mean. Be kind of awkward, wouldn’t it?” 

“Not for me,” he retorted with a shrug. “But I’d need to get a bigger bed and…” 

“Alright, enough! I get the picture,” his mother abruptly cut into his statement. “And this will need to be discussed later when your father gets home.” 

“You think Dad actually wants to talk about this?” 

“No, but he’s going to have to, I suppose. As you’ve told us several times, you are technically an adult. I’m not saying you’re a tart…” 

“Mum!” Dennis exclaimed in insult. 

“We never suspected you were one, but you do keep some things pretty private, Dennis,” she rejoined without any hint of apology. 

“Are you saying you want me to tell you about… what I get up to… in that respect?” The question came out broken as he tried to politely phrase it. 

“Heavens, no! I don’t know who’d be embarrassed more!” 

Dennis formed a very quick but real notion as to who would suffer the most. He shook his head to clear the ideas from his mind. However, he got left with an image of a naked Cameron stuck in his brain, and it made him squirm. 

“Dennis, you do have the secrecy rules to deal with, and I’m not sure how dating someone outside of – er – your world is going to help you. You won’t be able to share some of the most important parts of your life,” his mother said and brought up concerns over which he struggled. 

“Yeah, fair point, and I’ve already been thinking ‘bout that,” he mumbled and made note of the fact her statements never included any reference to gender. “But I know other magic-muggle couples who made a go of it. I told you Séamus Finnigan and Adewa Djouwelleo. They’re both half and half.” 

“Oh, going to use magic to have children now, are you?” 

One of the points his mother quailed about when he first came out centered on the fact Dennis would likely never produce children. She mourned grandchildren who did not exist from time to time. Colin’s death made it an issue by default. Moreover, Dennis told his parents he never envisioned himself as a parent. Privately, he did not consider himself mature enough to even think that far into the future. That facet became one of the times his sexuality overshadowed his being a wizard. 

“Mum,” Dennis huffed the word in exasperation. He started to collect his research. “Look, can we talk about this later. I think I have to go talk to Thomas and see what information I can get him to spill.” 

“Going to be back for dinner?” His mother inquired in a staid manner that belied her discomfort with several of the topics that got raised. 

“Should be. Won’t take me long there, and then I need to go to the Ministry library again. What time are thinking of putting on supper?” 

“Usual time. Six-thirty or so. You know how your father likes his schedule.” 

“Three and half hours. Okay, keep an eye on the chalkboard. If I think I’m going to run late, I’ll send word,” he openly planned. 

“I’ll do that. If you’re not going to be home in time, I’ll leave a plate in the fridge for you,” she said. 

“Thanks, Mum,” Dennis said as he rose, shoveled his papers into his backpack, and then walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek. 

“There’s a good lad.” 

Dennis stepped back a meter and replied: “I try.” 

Space then folded in around him and he sped off through the ether. He knew his mother did not like it when he disapparated so close to her since she claimed it made an awful sound like he got turned inside out. Yet she seemed ready to delay with more conversation. As he twisted his way to the Ministry, then Nottingham (a station he came to prefer), and finally to Hogwarts, it dawned on Dennis he faced some real adult problems that required real adult solutions. The solutions, unfortunately, did not seem patently obvious to him. 

“Core!” Dennis gasped the word when he reached the rocky prominence on the castle cliff under a gray sky. 

“My dear Mister Creevey!” Thomas shouted to him as he approached. “Can you see? She made it!” 

“Mister Creevey," Mrs. Hughes, Thomas’ daughter, said and performed a small curtsy. 

“For the last five days, Dennis, Lucia stood with me looking out over the lake and these lands, and we’ve spent so many hours in discourse I cannot begin to count,” the ghost of the man told him with no uncertain joy. “It is truly her. You are a man of your word, good sir, and I shall never entertain even a whisper of a doubt about you again.” 

Dennis stood basking in the jovial demeanor of his spectral friend. The cloudy skies notwithstanding, both father and daughter shown brighter than he ever saw. Watching the two caused water to gather on the edges of his eyelids. Here, at last, he completed part of the mission he set before himself. It made him happy to see them together. 

“I am in your debt, Mister Creevey, for helping me find my father. Were it not for the ills that befell him, I would be at full peace,” Lucia Hughes stated. 

“That’s why I’m here… other than to find out if you made it, Missus Hughes,” he replied. 

“Please, Lucia, Mister Creevey. You have more than earned my friendship and every right to address me in a more familiar manner.” 

“Then call me Dennis, if you would.” 

She tilted her head toward him. 

“This is better than I imagined it would be,” he said quietly to the two. 

“So very much more,” Thomas agreed. 

"Was it hard to get here?" Dennis inquired after turning his head to face Lucia. 

"It presented a challenge, Dennis, to be utterly honest. I do not know these lands as I rarely traveled far from Nottingham. The map you created for me helped, and most of your descriptions proved accurate. The railroad line you spoke of assisted the most. I followed it here once I found it," she said in quiet by thorough manner. "You described the castle perfectly, and it is a wonder to be hold. The air and grounds are flush with magic as you said. It is all rather extraordinary." 

"Yeah, it is," the living young man agreed. 

"I see it all now through new eyes, Dennis. Lucia speaks rightly: Hogwarts is magnificent," Thomas agreed as well. 

"And that brings up the reason why I am here," Dennis seized the moment. "Been thinking 'bout how to go about doing this, and I've got an idea. It probably won't work, but I'd like to give it a go." 

The two ghosts nodded their permission. 

"Right, so what I'm going to do is talk to Lucia. I'm going to ask her the questions. I don't think you'll be able to answer most of the questions, Thomas, but she knows you better than me. I'm hoping it might speed up getting information out of you," the young wizard explained. 

"Do you understand what I meant when I said he's a clever lad?" Thomas asked his daughter. 

"Father, he already proved that in Nottingham," Lucia remarked. 

"Maybe a little," Dennis acknowledged with a smirk. 

"Ask your questions, Dennis," the faint image of the woman said and smiled as well. 

"Good, and thanks," he opened. "Right. Now, you knew your father was a wizard?" 

"I knew, but we did not speak of it in the open," she answered. 

"The secrecy statutes were in full affect," Thomas added. 

"I know, and that's why I asked. Thomas, you said you openly practiced your magic. How…" 

"Not how, Dennis, but why. I only used my magic among my family and close associates. I did not use it often nor to sway the fortunes of my family. As I explained, my magic came by way of my mother," the spirit of the older man interjected. 

"And she trained you?" 

"When it became apparent I possessed the gifts, she did." 

"What about your brother, Edward?" Dennis asked, although he felt it a tangential matter. 

"Dear Edward did not possess the ability, but he never begrudged that fact I did," Thomas stated and his eyebrows drew together a little. "He knew the dangers that came with magical powers, and he knew I would be burned at the stake as a warlock. Both my father and mother impressed on him the need to keep it a secret lest he lose half his family. He did, and I loved him all the more for it." 

"Okay, right. That's good. I… never mind, but here's the real question: who else knew?" Dennis inquired and stopped himself from raising a distracting issue. 

"Knew that I was a wizard aside from my immediate family?" 

Dennis nodded. 

"Well, my mother's relatives knew. My maternal grandparents were both magic, and they seemed pleased the gift got passed to one of their grandchildren. Various aunts, uncles, and cousins along that line likely were aware of my status. Why? Do you think one of them might be involved?" The former Earl of Nottingham relayed. 

"No, because you can talk about them. Can you tell me who killed you?" The younger wizard asked. 

Thomas became rigid. 

"Good heavens, father!" Lucia exclaimed when she saw the reaction. "Please, Mister Creevey, release him from this awful spell! Please!" 

"How was the hay crop the first year you were the earl?" Dennis quickly asked. 

"Ah! Fine and well. Quiet healthy that year," Thomas heaved out the words as he visibly shifted his thoughts. 

"Father!" Lucia quailed. 

"There, there, my precious girl, I am fine," he soothed her. "Dennis and I discovered this as a means to discuss my… circumstances. He quickly deduced how to wrest me from the control of the curse." 

The wind blew around them, and another low round of thunder sounded from some ways off. It seemed to punctuate the moment. Dennis glanced at the sky. When the rain would come became a concern. 

"And it brings up another point maybe you can answer, Lucia: did you know of any other wizards… or witches?" Dennis returned to the main subject. 

"No, none. We knew about father and grandmother, but never spoke of it to anyone as by his instructions," Lucia replied. 

Dennis watched her speak. Her voice struggled to be heard above wind. When the storm arrived as he felt certain it would, further discussion out of doors would be useless. Thomas never seemed inclined to enter the castle. 

"So, it wasn't family, and Lucia did not know of any other magical folk," Dennis verbally assembled the small pieces. "We know Thomas knew the person who did this to him. Given the secrecy statute, this makes some sense. People didn't go about flaunting their powers. We still don't, except for Voldemort. Still, a wizard can recognize another wizard." 

"Yet even still, the non-magical did not know of Voldemort's presence." Thomas corrected him. 

"Lucia, none of what I read said and your father can't tell me directly, but did he die right away? Did you find him dead?" He inquired. 

His question obviously distressed the woman. Thomas took her hand in his, and for a brief moment Dennis found it absurd. Ghosts did not possess solidity, and even Peeves needed to expended considerable energies to move objects and never became material. Then Dennis felt stupid because, he reasoned, ghosts could touch one another. He could not imagine how or what force allowed it, but a multitude of examples popped into his mind. 

"Lucia, please, this is of the gravest importance," Thomas encouraged her, and Dennis forced his mouth to remain motionless as the unintentional pun struck him. 

Lucia looked up and seemingly far away as she said: "It was a clear evening, Mister Creevey, in September. The early harvest just started, and father helped oversee it in the west field in the place now called Gedling. He came back with Harrold Hicking, stabled the horses, and spoke with Mister Dermeister, one of the tenants. Harrold Hicking argued with father for a while, but left just before nightfall to return home…" 

"The same Hickings who married your younger cousin and took over the title when Edward died?" Dennis interjected. 

"We were not on good terms with that family,” Thomas added in a serious voice. “They owned various tracts of land to the north and further east, so we did our best to be polite with them. They tried to buy more land from my father, but… my father and I found a way to buy some of their land. This did not endear us to the Hickings. Yet it should be said their foundry proved the real source of their revenues. Edward never knew of this as he applied himself to his studies." 

"Any of the Hickings wizards?" 

Two ghostly heads shook back and forth. 

"Dennis, I, too, thought it could provide motives for nefarious deeds, but consider I am free to speak about them." 

"Yeah, fair point there, Thomas. Still, who else might have a reason to want to do you in?" Dennis almost rhetorically asked. "Guess I need to do more reading somewhere." 

"Since you know a magician did this, Dennis, perhaps you should focus your inquiries there," Lucia suggested. 

"I was thinking the same thing. Figuring out where to start is going to be tricky 'cause we've got nothing to go on. Somebody somewhere had to have a reason to do this to your dad, but the main suspects just got let out of the stocks," he pondered aloud. 

The late Earl of Nottingham squarely faced Dennis while retaining a hold on Lucia's left hand. He appeared solemn, yet serene in the living person's eyes. His clothes appeared neat and straight as befitting a man of his station. 

"As I stated before, Mister Creevey, should this become unsolvable over time, you have already earned my full gratitude for reuniting me with Lucia. It is a gift beyond measure," the man told him. 

"Still not enough, Thomas. I know if it were me in your shoes, I'd want to find the bastard and force justice down his throat!" 

Raindrops hit his head. 

“Care to take this into the castle?” Dennis both suggested and requested. 

“I prefer not to,” Thomas responded. 

Dennis raised his eyebrows. 

“I am loathe to go into the detail, but suffice it to say The Bloody Baron and I have come to odds more than once. He envies my rank, I think.” 

“I can believe that.” 

A heavy rain dropped from the clouds. Dennis felt it soaking through his clothes. He scrambled to close his backpack. 

“Away with you, Mister Creevey, ‘ere you catch your death from cold.” 

“Right. I’ll be back soon.” 

With that Dennis disapparated into the castle as the rain became a torrent. Ghosts would not be bothered by it, but he hated getting soaked. As Dennis leapfrogged from station to station, and eventually home, his mind started to dissect the conversation with Thomas and Lucia. He begrudgingly admitted eliminating suspects served a purpose; yet he felt hesitant about discarding the Hickings. They seemed ripe for exacting revenge against the Norths for a number of reasons. Disposing of the eldest son would put the holding on tenuous footing as any second or third son would not be raised to manage in the same manner as the heir apparent. Moreover, Thomas North, Earl of Nottingham, gave every appearance of total competence. If he and his father engineered annexing land from the Hickings, then the man represented a serious force. Ideas bubbled in Dennis brain. 

“For Pete’s sake, Dennis, don’t just stand there dripping water everywhere,” his mother yelled at him. 

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled and glanced around. “Was thinking ‘bout something.” 

“Good or bad… and go get changed!” 

“Not sure yet, Mum. I’ll let you know when I find out more.” 

He then trotted to the stairs and then his room. Within a minute Dennis stood clad only in his underwear as he checked on his research. His decision to use a muggle ballpoint pen saved him tremendous grief and loss because the ink did not run when it got wet. Water could shrink and warp parchment, but at least the printing would survive. The notion Thomas knew the killer and Lucia did not made sense only in light that the woman did not witness the murder. Coupled with the fact she knew no other witches or wizards, other than her paternal grandmother’s family, still left family revenge as remote possibility. Dennis made a note to ask if Thomas suffered a falling out with any of his blood relatives despite his claim his family could not be involved. 

“Clothes, Dennis!” His mother hollered from the hallway after coming up the stairs and heading for the bathroom. “And can you see your way to cutting some veg for after you get dressed?” 

“Sure, Mum,” Dennis replied without the slightest hint of embarrassment his mother saw him scantily dressed. 

Dennis slipped into some dry shorts and a tee-shirt. He hung the wet set on the spindles of the chair that sat next to the door. It routinely served as a hamper much to the annoyance of his mother, but Dennis used it to judge when he needed to do laundry, aside from running out of socks or underwear. Once suitably attired, he went down to the kitchen. 

“Have to admit that does come handy at times,” his mother commented when she also returned to the kitchen. 

Two knives set about chopping and slicing carrots and radishes without any human assistance. His mother already prepared the vinaigrette dressing and roasted pine nuts she would add to make a cold side dish. While growing up his friends thought it an inedible and insane dish, but the entire Creevey clan loved it. Both he and Colin often requested it from the kitchens at Hogwarts, and more than one person there grew to like it. 

“So, what’d you learn, Detective Creevey?” She asked him while seeing to the roasting pork loin and onions. 

“I’d never work for the Ministry,” he grumbled first, “but… I guess you could say we ruled out suspects. Thomas knows his killer, but Lucia doesn’t know any witches or wizards outside of her grandmother’s family. Since a witch or wizard did this…” 

“Someone in the family trying to claim the title?” His mother interjected. She became of avid fan of television crime series over the years, especially for Inspector Morse and Miss Marple. The Midsomer Murders also ranked high on her list. 

“It’d be nice if it worked out like that, but Thomas’ younger brother Edward became the next Earl of Nottingham. No one tried to snuff him in over fifty years. Didn’t work out like anyone would’ve guessed. I read that the title passed to the family they feuded with from time to time because Edward never had a son,” he laid out what he knew. 

“Seems that other family would be the prime suspects.” 

“Yeah, they would, ‘cept not a one of them is magical. Don’t forget Thomas was killed and cursed.” 

He saw his mother’s shoulders lift, the source of his shrugging habit, and she opined: “Maybe they hired someone to do the dirty work.” 

“I didn’t think of that, but I can think of at least ten reasons why that wouldn’t happen,” he remarked. 

Jill Creevey turned and fixed her son with a quizzical expression. 

“The Secrecy Statute, Mum. That’d be a huge violation, and I’m willing to bet someone in Thomas’ family reported it to… shite!” “Language!” She yelled at him, but her curiosity clearly got the better of her. “Shite what?” 

Dennis smirked at his mother, the knives became silent as they finished their chore, and he said: “I never looked to see if there were any auror records in the Ministry or in Nottingham… even muggle constable reports. An earl dropping dead at a young age had to get looked into a little bit.” 

“Sounds reasonable, but do the two sides work together?” 

Dennis shrugged. 

“Well, what about Voldemort… when he was doing his worst? Surely your ministry worked with British intelligence or… the army… or even the Prime Minister’s office. Wasn’t just you magic folk who suffered.” 

Her words took on an edge as always happened when anything related to Voldemort came up in conversation. The name alone evoked the fact Colin met his end at the hands of the crazed wizard’s forces. Dennis felt a hard knot form in his stomach. 

“I wasn’t invited to those meetings, Mum, but I’m sure there had to be some cooperation going on,” he flatly said while struggling to keep his anger in check and remain focused on the task at hand. 

She returned to the hob and stirred the mashed peas being warmed in a pan. Dennis checked on the carrots and radishes. He did not need to be instructed to rinse the final product in the colander and set the mix to air dry. The ends and roots got tossed in the waste bin. When he spun around, he found his mother staring at him. 

“I guess it’s human nature, isn’t it, Love?” She asked him. 

“What is, Mum?” Dennis counter-queried. 

“Lust for power. Killing. Magical or not, doesn’t seem one side is better than the other.” 

“I suppose not.” 

“Is this Lord North a decent sort?” His mother pressed. 

Dennis nodded. 

“Do you trust him?” 

He nodded again. 

“You always had a better sense about people than your brother. Make sure you use it,” she advised her son. 

“I am. I asked Thomas if he did anything to deserve this. He got offended, but said he didn’t. I didn’t read anything in the history that said he did,” he told her. “In fact, there’s not a lot written about him. That’s was I keep finding so strange. It’s like somebody wanted to make sure no one asked questions.” 

His mother assumed both a fearful and surprised visage. 

“Now what, Mum?” 

“Dennis, this is nobility we’re talking about here. Peers of the realm and all that. What if this is a lot bigger than you think it is?” She exclaimed in a hushed voice. 

"And after two-hundred and forty-some years…?" He countered with a leading question. 

"Royalty has a long memory!" 

"So do elephants and hippogriffs, but this happened before the colonies revolted, Mum. Who's left who'd even really care?" 

The sudden mix of the magical and nobility spooked his mother. She would not leave the subject. Too many years of Ivory-Merchant films and Upstairs, Downstairs polluted her thinking in his estimation. He also noted his mother seemed to enjoy the sense of highbrow intrigue. Her mind appeared to feast on the idea of grand plots and schemes stretching over centuries. Dennis realized their conversation would not yield any further insights. 

It did not end there. During dinner, his mother continued to fantasize about an elaborate web of nefarious intricacies to rob Thomas North of his land and titles. His father got some of the facts from his son, but his wife kept intruding with one outrageous conspiracy after another. Her efforts so distorted the truth as to render it meaningless. Dennis did not need to guess it stemmed from death of Princess Dianna. A good quarter of the United Kingdom bought into the myth the royal family, even Queen Elizabeth herself, somehow arranged Dianna's demise as a revenge killing for bringing dishonor on the family by exposing Prince Charles as a philanderer. Dennis gave up trying to engage in rational conversation about Lord North for the rest of the evening. 

"So, you're not going to be around this weekend, huh?" Mr. Odpadki rhetorically queried the next morning after Dennis said he would be going to London and then Nottingham for the weekend. "Planning on a little romantic time while you're out and about?" 

Sasha Odpadki, the eldest daughter of his employer, snickered. She also made a kissy face at Dennis. Like her father, the young woman, and she held a bit more than six years on Dennis, presented a quick sense of humor and seemed more than willing to use it at all times. Four times in the past two weeks Sasha joined them on particularly knotty waste removals, and seemed a deft hand with smaller magical creatures. She also appeared stronger than her father, and both shared a similar armoured-sausage build. She held onto one end of the trap net with greater ease than Dennis. 

"Shut it," Dennis playfully said to her, and then to her father he added: "Of course I am. Not like a I need a murder now to get me to go to Nottingham." 

"Denny, hold tighter to you end," Sasha instructed him. 

The floating pile of trash, one with a seeming mind of its own, wanted to head toward the Thames River. While the Grayford Marshes seemed a festering swamp to most, it housed a tidy little magical community that included a quirky family who liked to build flying contraptions to feed the flying saucer legends. Mr. Odpadki told him the Velowiess' routinely ignore the Ministry threats to send the entire clan to prison. Sasha mentioned the Ministry probably feared igniting an internecine war because the Velowiess family extended far and wide. Dennis silently agreed with Sasha as he hauled on the rope to keep one end of the rubbish heap from achieving altitude. 

"Any ideas how to tame this mess?" Sasha asked with a chuckle. 

"We could burn it," he loudly suggested. 

"It'd go off like a bomb," Mr. Odpadki yelled from his position. 

"We tried that about ten years ago. Took us ages to get the muggle defense forces off our back, and Dad had to pay a five-thousand galleon fine. Took the Ministry three years to completely cover the story," his daughter filled in the details. 

Dennis made the appropriate horrified face at the excessive fine. 

"Well, what do you usually do with it?" He asked while trying to retain his footing. 

"Usually bury it in a cave somewhere once we get it into a truck, but this is a pretty big load this time," Mr. Odpadki stated. 

"What if we shrunk it first?" Dennis suggested. 

"This'd be a lot of shrinking," Sasha intoned. "And we'd still have the conservation of mass problem." 

Dennis learned on their second trip Sasha completely understood the rules of magic. He wondered why she never went to Hogwarts, but suspected Mr. Odpadki could not afford it. Hogwarts did not pay for everyone after all. As a result, a number of small institutions existed. More than a few offered an excellent education, but an equal number turned out poorly trained witches and wizards. Dennis still did not know which school Sasha and her siblings attended. 

"Yeah, then it'd be like trying to hold onto a bludger." 

Sasha nodded. However, his stray comment sparked an idea in his brain. It seemed far-fetched, but he could not let it go. 

"How good are your maths?" He called out to the woman. 

"Decent enough. Dad's is better, I think. Why?" She rejoined. 

"Well, it's kind of dumb, but what if we shrank this lot down to the size of an American baseball. How much flying force would it have?" 

Mr. Odpadki whistled. 

"That means a lot," Sasha interpreted. 

"Enough to send it into space?" 

Father and daughter stared at him as if he suddenly sprouted harpy horns and wings. Dennis, despite the worried glances he garnered, clung to the idea. He began wracking his brain to recall how far up the sky extended until it gave way to outer space. It did not seem as high as he once thought, and he recalled something about escape velocity, but the principle seemed sound. Dennis held his ground in several manners. 

"How far up?" His employer called out. 

"I don't know. I think it's 'round forty kilometers up, there about," he answered. 

"How much force do rockets use to get there?" Sasha questioned him. 

Dennis shrugged as best he could. He remembered it got measured in pounds of thrust per meter, but the absolute number eluded him. Another number entered his brain. 

"I remember terminal velocity is around two-hundred and forty kilometers per hour if a round object is dropped from a high enough height. Madam Hooch made us learn that so we'd know even ten meter fall from a broom could kill us," he told them. 

In unison, Mr. Odpadki and Sasha Odpadki tilted their heads back. Their lips moved as they performed mental calculations. Dennis knew the man became skilled in mathematics because of the various problems he faced that required calculating various forces and mass when confronting strangely charmed or hexed materials. Sasha said she simply enjoy mathematics all the way around. After nearly three minutes of silence, their heads snapped forward and then toward each other. 

"'Bout the size of a Facesmasher Gobstopper?" Sasha openly speculated. 

"I was thinking the same thing. The bugger would shoot to Belfast non-stop like a bullet at that size!" Mr. Odpadki stated with a hint of manic glee in his voice. "But do we got enough between us to make it that small?" 

"And what'd we hold it down with? That's going to be of lot of up force. It'd punch right through a sheet of canvas," the young woman added. 

"What about a sheet of metal and some chains?" Dennis suggested. 

The two Odpadkis glanced at him with what he considered extremely dangerous grins. 

An hour later a sheet of heavy-gauge steel covered the midsection of the floating mass. Thick chains, anchored to the ground by stout spikes, got attached to the four corners. The restraint weighed so much it the garbage pile sank half a meter in the air. Dennis, Sasha, and Mr. Odpadki, dressed in matching coveralls, stood to one side discussing how best to apply the reducto spell. They slowly arrived at the conclusion they could only attack heap from the underside. Eight members of the Veloweiss family sat off to one side listening and watching the proceedings with a disturbing amount of interest. 

"Okay, look, if we position ourselves here, here, and here," Mr. Odpadki said as he magically drew a diagram in the dirt with his battered but stout wand, "that'll give us even coverage. I've seen both of you cast, so added to my ability, it looks like we got enough to do this." 

"Got to be consistent. Do we go all out from the start?" Sasha asked. 

"Not a good idea," Dennis entered the debate. "Professor McGonagall said the rapid application of transformative magic to an object can destabilize the structure and cause it to explode. That's the theory she came up with to explain why Séamus kept setting things on fire… or blowing them up. I think he had a lot more magic in him than anyone realized." 

"Okay, good story to learn from. So, how about we do a slow count from ten and build up to full strength?" The elder man recommended. 

The two younger mages nodded in agreement. 

"Fine. I'll do the count down. You two just focus on aiming your magic at an angle from your location. Like we discussed, the pile should pull toward the center as it shrinks. We clear?" 

"Yes, sir," Dennis immediately replied. 

"Got it, Dad," Sasha responded with confidence. 

"Off to your locations then!" He commanded them. 

Dennis went to the spot indicated on the map in the dirt. Sasha and Mr. Odpadki did as well. After two minutes of adjusting their positions, the trio aimed their wands at the closest edge of the trash. 

"Okay, I am going to count to three and then say the spell on the fourth beat. Then I'm going to start counting to ten. Ramp up your flow slowly like Denny said. Soon as it looks about the size of a gobstopper, cut it off. Clear?" 

Two heads nearest the trash nodded. From the corner of his eye, Dennis saw several Veloweiss heads nod as well. It dawned on him they just gave the family a rather swift but intense lesson regarding a creative application of the reducto spell. He sidelined his worry and concentrated. 

"One… two… three… REDUCTO!" Mr. Odpadki led them in the casting. 

Three streams of magic simultaneously hit the errant aerial detritus pile. The man started to count to ten, and Dennis regulated his flow of magic. He gradually increased the power level. By the time the number ten got shouted, his hand shook from the force he unleashed from his wand. The red pine wand with a dragon heartstring, eleven inches long, sturdy but supple, quavered in his hand. He saw the Odpadkis also struggled to maintain control. Above his head the garbage began to groan, squeak, and thump. In one spot after another it started to contract. Although not uniform, the pile began to shrink toward a center point. Dennis heard the chains clink. As the trash grew smaller, the metal sheet floated higher until it pulled at the restraints. The youngest of the waste removal magi waited for the signal to halt. 


	8. Chapter 8

The next day, late on a Friday afternoon, Dennis could not tell Cameron what made him so pensive. The vision of a fist-sized ball of compacted, magically imbued garbage blasting through the air, and it created a small sonic boom, would not leave his mind. Right after he and the Odpadkis released the transformed pile, he worried it would strike an airplane or a jet. Then he worried about the satellites in orbit around the planet. The metal plate used to hold back the trash got stretched into a cone shape with a hole at the apex. Finally, he worried the object would not achieve escape velocity and go circling through the upper atmosphere creating all sorts of havoc. The Odpadkis did not share his worries.

Dennis spent part of the morning at the Ministry library before heading to Nottingham. He then spent the rest of the morning traveling from one archive to another in search for magical and muggle records. Cameron fortunately worked during the day, so Dennis did not need to make excuses to disappear into exclusively magical buildings. By the time he finished his research, made copies of records, it required him to translocate a massive number of sheets to his bedroom in St. Alban's. Unlike disapparating and apparating, Dennis did not face much of a distance limitation. Although he never tried to translocate an object to the other side of the world, he thought he could easily send something to the east coast of the United States. 

"Was it an environmental law?" Cameron asked as they ate a take-out meal on the floor of his flat. 

"Maybe… might be… could be. Don't know for sure, but I'm worried we might get cited for something," Dennis related part of his fears to the African-descended man who seemed to easily steal his affections. 

"Did you get a permit to move the stuff?" 

Dennis gave him a blank stare. 

"Doesn't matter, Denny. It's your boss' responsibility and not yours." 

"But should I say something to someone? I mean, isn't there an ethical code or something?" 

"Probably, but like the master plumbers say: It's legal 'les I tell you different," Cameron said and his voice and accent changed for the last part. 

"Yeah, I guess," Dennis said in far less than full agreement. 

Cameron scooted closer to him until their shoulders touched. Like Dennis, he also wore a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, but of a fashionable variety. His elbow and knee rubbed against Dennis' pale, sallow skin. Dennis felt himself begin to physically react to the contact. 

"Listen, everyone is real excited to hang out with you tonight. Jeanie and Mike want to hear all about this earl case you're looking into. They're royal fanatics, and you'd better talk fast or you won't get a word in edgewise," the dark-skinned young man said in an excited manner. 

Dennis swallowed hard against his rising sense of want. He turned his face and gazed at the wonderful features he saw. Cameron returned the gaze. 

"Cam, can I ask you something?" Dennis quietly inquired. 

"Sure, mate. Anything," the young man gamely agreed. 

"Is this… are we heading into something more… like a relationship? 'Cause, to be honest, I don't know what the hell I'm doing." 

"Maybe. Who knows? Like you've told me a couple of times, we're still getting to know each other. Don't get me wrong, I really like what I've seen so far, but… well, not going to push it, you know?" Cameron answered. 

"So, the sex?" 

Cameron smiled and said: "It's great. I like it, and you like it, so no problem there. Why?" 

Dennis shrugged. 

"Out with it, Denny. Worst thing you can do is hold back what you're thinking. That's death for any relationship. I should know. I've watched my parents go through marriages like biscuits, and it's all because they never talk to the people they marry." 

"My folks don't talk much, and they're still together. They even survived one of their kids dying, and that's sort of like a miracle from what I've read," Dennis commented. 

"They got you to look after, so maybe that helped." 

"I don’t know, to be honest. I sort of remind them of Colin all the time. I can see and feel it when they look at me." 

"Course you do. Don't be a prat. Probably scared to death something is going to happen to you," Cameron rightly surmised and nudged him with an elbow. 

"You have no idea," Dennis half-whispered and stared at his fork. The tika masala cooled, but he did not care in the least. He would eat it frozen if necessary. 

"Look, me and you, let's just take it as it comes. If it winds up being more, then great. If not, we'd still be mates and I'm good with that." 

"With benefits?" 

"Yeah. Why not?" 

The two young men started to giggle. Dennis never did discover if a gay community existed in the magical world, but always assumed it must. Cameron correctly identified his parents' worry over his safety, yet he could not explain to his friend exactly why. Only in the last month did they relinquish their tight grip on him. Dennis demanded it and, with finding a job and continuing to research Thomas's death, it left them with little choice. The last three years of his life got cocooned in their protective embrace, and at times it turned into a stranglehold. Their need to protect often came into conflict with his magical abilities. The Creevey household experienced high amounts of tension at times. 

“I think it’s cool how close you two were. Not cool how much it hurt you when he got killed, but… I’ve never been that close to my brother and sister,” Cameron said when a few seconds of silence ticked by. “Did Colin know you’re gay?” 

“Died before even I really figured it out. I sort of knew, but school… being there kind of kept my mind occupied. Wasn’t ‘til the next year when I finally accepted myself,” Dennis told him, filling in more of the backstory without revealing much of anything. 

“Would he’ve been cool with it?” 

“Yeah. Colin didn’t judge people very much. He didn’t care where people came from or what their life was like before he met ‘em. If you were nice to him, he was nice to you. Hell of a photographer, too. Did I tell you that?” 

“No, and keep talking. I want to know about your brother. Kind of lets me see into you,” Cameron exhorted him. 

They ate and talked. Dennis found it refreshing to tell someone about his brother, even when he wept a little, who did not arrive with preconceived notions about the Creevey brothers. He found himself remembering details he nearly forgot. A wave of happiness surged through him as he called up the memories. Cameron asked all the right questions at all the right times, and it prompted Dennis to remember even more. An hour into their discussion, the magic in his body began to swirl. Static started pouring out of the computer speakers and obscured the digital music. The lights also flickered. 

“Damn electricity. Never really stable around here,” Cameron grumbled and got up to check the computer. 

The real cause of the interference sat on the floor trying to ease his emotions. Gradually the static disappeared from the speakers. Cameron strolled back to couch they used as a back rest. He held out his hand. 

“Feel like a walk? If we leave now, we can head for the cafe and get there in time,” Cameron proposed. 

Dennis grabbed the extended hand and hauled himself up. Before he could do anything else, his handsome host caught him in a hug. A kiss naturally followed. They let it linger for a few minutes. 

“Do you know how sexy it is when a guy shows his emotions like that?” Cameron whispered in his ear. 

“Don’t know as I’d call it sexy. I did get a snotty nose for a little bit,” Dennis demurred. 

“And why not? You were talking about someone you loved, who obviously loved you just as much, and who you lost. I still can see how deeply it affected you, Denny, but… god, listening to you tell me about Colin, I’d give anything to have someone think about me like that.” 

“Ew!” 

“Not like that, you perv!” 

“Then like how?” Dennis continued to tease. 

“Like… like… I’m somebody special. That I’m not just black or gay. That I’m someone real with depth and not just an ass,” Cameron told him and veered into a serious territory. 

Dennis waited until Cameron looked him in the eyes to say: “You are special, Cam. You’ve got real depth. Yeah, sure, that ass could put a spell on the whole city, but since that first time you sat down and talked to me, I knew there’s a lot more to you. For the record: being black and gay works in your favor with me.” 

“Trying to make fall for you?” 

“Maybe. Is it working?” 

“Oh, like magic.” 

The smile that curled Dennis’ mouth felt as cryptic as the thoughts behind it. He could tell the dark-skinned young man a thing or two about using magic to manipulate emotions. It seemed like every other year love potions became the rage Hogwarts. In nearly all cases it ended in disaster. On rare occasion it would allow two people to express how they really felt, and a new relationship would emerge. Most often, broken hearts and tears littered the halls of Hogwarts for several months. As desperate as Dennis became a times in wanting to feel close to someone, anyone, he never resorted to the cheap potions. 

Following another long kiss, Cameron retrieved a huge umbrella to protect them from the rain. While Dennis got some muggle money from his backpack, he also stowed his wand. Leaving it behind made him feel exposed worse than if he actually walked naked through the streets, but he also feared what might happen if he kept it on his person. Despite modifying at least one pocket in all his pants and shorts, concealing a wand sometimes proved to be a chore. Moreover, if discovered by a group of muggles, they would be tempted to play with it or at least ask to examine it. The consequences could be disastrous. 

“Denny?” Cameron called to him. 

Dennis zipped up his backpack and trotted to the door of flat. After locking the door, Cameron took him by the hand as they walked down the stairs and aimed for the great wide open. He did not release it when they reached the street and huddled close under the umbrella. Dennis enjoyed it more than he could express. 

The evening proved remarkable. Aside from time spent with his parents, Dennis could barely remember when he last associated with a group of people comprised solely of muggles. He guessed it occurred when he attended public school before heading to Hogwarts. After that day, he did not mingle with non-magical people aside from his immediate family and close relatives. Apart from his parents, no other muggle knew him as a wizard. Dennis found the company that night oddly compelling because they never once talked about any event or situation touched by magic. Moreover, the mix included both gay and straight people. Dennis felt unusually comfortable with the group. 

Five hours after arriving at the cafe, they departed with the rest of Cameron’s friends when the manger said they needed to close so the employees could clean and get ready for the morning shift. Dennis and Cameron got offers for a ride to Cameron’s apartment, but they opted to walk in the light drizzle under the huge umbrella. They wanted to repeat the arrival trip. Thus, ushered out the door and following long farewells, the two headed toward Cameron's flat. The car head- and taillights, neon signs, and streetlights refracted off the wet pavement and sidewalks. It lent a dreamy quality to their stroll. Much of it reminded Dennis of various holidays at Hogwarts when the castle got decorated for the celebrations. Cameron held his hand, and Dennis kept a good grip on it. 

"They think we’re a couple now," Cameron told him, "and they really like you. Might even like you better than me." 

"I don't think so," Dennis chortled. "They're nice people. You were right about Jeanie and Mark, and they gave me some good research ideas." 

"Shelly asked me why you're not going to university." 

"Not interested right now. Like I told you: I'm done with school for a while. I could ask the same about you." 

"God, I was a terrible student, Denny. I was more into getting laid than I was learning about the world," Cameron freely offered the reasons. "I chased so many straight boys it was stupid. A couple surprised me, but… didn't leave a lot of time for education." 

"And it didn't sound like your parents cared much," the young wizard stated. 

"Once I came out, they didn't give one rat's arse about how I did. There was just looking for the day when I'd move on and go be gay somewhere else." 

"So much for the enlightened age." 

The two young men traveled along the main roads. They saw few other people, and those they did see appeared more interested in getting out the rain. Under the umbrella it felt dry and safe. Dennis privately confessed he wanted to pursue a relationship with Cameron. He truly liked the man. However, it would take time mainly because he did not know the rules in the magical world about dating muggles. It happened with greater regularity than anyone cared to admit, but no one ever seemed to talk about it. He decided that perhaps he should avail himself of Hermione’s offer of an open office door. If anyone would know the arcane and subtle rules, arguably the most talented witch to pass through Hogwarts in fifty years would be the one. He grinned to himself as he listened to Cameron complain about the backwardness of his family. 

"Well, well, well, don't you two look all nice and sweet?" A raspy voice rumbled at them. 

From the dim recesses of the stairwell of a split-level row house, likely divided into flats, two bodies emerged. Dennis recalled seeing movies where villains stepped out of the shadows, but he thought it only a trope used in films. It gave every indication of a hoax or prank, but the manner in which Cameron's arm became stiff told him otherwise. Dennis eyed the two men, and they looked a decade older. Moreover, the also appeared built for trouble. The strawberry-blonde haired young man felt a shift in his body as his defenses began to activate. 

"Just let us through," he said in a way he hoped sounded bored. 

"Cost ya twenty quid to pass," the other man said. 

"Really? Isn't this all sort of too nineteen-fifties? You got a Vespa hidden somewhere all decorated with the lights and bits and bobs and a little flag saying 'Born to be Wild'?" Dennis retorted in the same nonplussed manner. 

"Getting cheeky, are you? Don't think me and my friend here can't give queers like you a good thumping?" The first man growled. "Pay up or get ready to start bleeding." 

Dennis forcibly removed his hand from Cameron's. His friend appeared frightened, and for good reasons. The two men did appear completely capable of beating the living daylights out of both of them. Yet one fact separated he and Cameron for other victims of muggle ruffians: they did not know they faced a trained wizard. Furthermore, Hogwarts initiated a requirement in Dennis' fifth year regarding personal safety. For the next three years he spent at least four hours a week training in various forms of personal defense, but he often practiced more often. The Ministry made exceptions for wizards defending themselves, so limited forms of magic could be employed. After the final Voldemort battle, it seemed wiser to prepare people for hand-to-hand fighting. Dennis took to it with gusto, especially after he got outed. 

"Look here, Marky! Got us a brave one, and he ain't nothing but sticks and twigs," the first assailant happily grumbled. 

"Fine by me," the one apparently named Marky intoned. 

Dennis felt magic flowing into his fists. Sir Cadogan told him on several occasions it did well to get in the first strike since it would put the other person on the defensive. Moreover, Sir Cadogan taught him a trick the knight swore he learned from Merlin himself. Thus, Dennis started channeling magic into his fists. He mumbled under his breath, and his hands became heavy. He watched as Marky approached. 

"Give it up, laddies," he warned them. 

Dennis cocked his arm back and sent his fist forward. He also giggled a little from his pent-up nervousness. Marky definitely saw the hit arriving as the wizard spied the man's head turning slightly to the side. It seemed the hooligan did not fear a strike from the slender, tow-headed young man. Hence, Dennis' balled right hand landed with a sickening crunch on the man's chin in a downward strike accompanied by a strange popping sound. Marky crumpled to the ground. 

"What the bloody fuck? You little bastard!" The first man bellowed at him. 

Dennis already went into action. His left hand still contained a full charge of magical augmentation. He performed an upper cut as taught to him by two ghosts and two paintings along with the visiting muggle defensive arts instructor. As happened with Marky, Dennis caught the man on the chin, but instead drove his fist upward. Once more a popping sound emerged along with the hollow thump of the impact. The man fell backward and partially onto his compatriot. Neither man moved. Dennis suspected they would spend most of the night in the rain since he added a small dormio sleeping spell to the mix. Yet he also hoped the hardening of his hands would leave the two with resplendent bruises. He stepped back under the umbrella. 

"You are fucking amazing," Cameron whispered with awe. 

"I work with garbage, so this was like going to work," Dennis said and hoped it sound casual. 

"You didn't even act afraid, Denny!" 

"You didn't go to my school. I've dealt with a lot worse than these two." 

Dennis did not add that he meant a number of the monsters Hagrid introduced to the terrified students. He did not count Peeves as a monster, but the poltergeist knew how to give someone a good run and thrashing. Almost three years of dodging Peeves' various so-called instructive attacks gave Dennis superb reflexes and reaction times. Nearly a month spent wrangling aggressive trash also began to tone his muscles. All-in-all, Dennis felt confident he could defend himself against all the but the worst muggle attack. He feared firearms, but that seemed more an American problem. 

"People are going to loose their shit when they hear about this," Cameron continued to gush and began to pull Dennis forward. 

"Aw, come on, Cam. Don't go spreading stories. It was no big deal," he tried to plead. 

The dark face dropped into a mystified expression. They stepped over the quiescent forms of their two would-be assailants. The drizzle continued to drift out of the sky. 

"Look, we got personal defense instruction at school, and I took three years of it. Can't imagine how much worse it would've been for me if I didn't." 

"I thought you went to some posh school up in Scotland?" Cameron queried and nearly sounded accusing. 

"Who said a posh school can't be filled with tossers and arseholes?" 

"Fair point," his friend said as they strolled down the street. 

"I told you before how Colin and me didn't come from their world, and we never really fit in. A lot of 'em let us know we weren't like them… all the time. Never seemed to get to Colin. Don't know how, but I kind of envied him," Dennis again explained. 

"And then you got outed…" Cameron said, and Dennis eyed him a bit. "Not your fault, and I can't blame you for wanting to stay hid if that was already what you were facing. Hard not staring though, isn't it?" 

"Danby Axebridge," the young wizard sighed the name. "He was beautiful, Cam. Course, he would have to be in Raven…" 

"Raven? What about Ravens?" 

"No, just a stupid tradition at our school. Every year got a mascot animal, and you'd call people of that year by that animal," he fabricated around the truth. 

"What was your animal?" Cameron pressed. 

"Lion. All very British and proper, huh?" 

Cameron smirked at him and said: "So, you had eyes for this bloke?" 

"Like you wouldn't believe. Couldn't stand up for a half an hour if I spent five minutes in the same room with him. That's how people figured me out. Caught me pretty much drooling over Danby in the library, and he got bloody mad at me for it, too. Made the mistake of standing up to leave," Dennis actually told the real story since it did not reveal any other truths. 

"Ooh, show and tell!" 

Dennis laughed at the euphemism. They continued to talk about their experiences in school. Cameron, he learned, knew his orientation from an early age, and never denied it when people questioned him. Physically, public school sounded rougher to the young wizard. Only rarely did he get physically bullied, and it mostly stopped by the middle of his sixth year. Dennis could and would defend himself. He served enough detentions to prove it. A meeting with Headmistress McGonagall and his parents revealed the truth to them following a fight near the end of his fifth year. In less than two months his world got turned upside down, but he did not seem to suffer the same physical extremes as Cameron. 

"And they didn't sue?" Dennis asked as they stepped into the flat. 

"My Dad and step-mum, number three I think, thought I brought it on myself. Said I was too swish, too much of a damn poof. Only thing that happened was I got suspended along with the guys who jumped me 'cause I was fighting," Cameron growled with indignation. "Fighting? I was lying on the floor getting the bloody shit kicked out of me!" 

Dennis closed the door behind him. He never got the chance to respond. As if they entered another movie, Cameron trapped him against the door with a sound kiss. Hands slid up and down his sides. He responded in kind. They stood mostly undressed in a matter of minutes. By the time they reached Cameron's bedroom, not a stitch of clothing remained on either of them. 

Dennis awoke the next morning with Cameron snuggled against him. The sense of peace and security it brought him nearly became overwhelming. For years he sought something similar. He craved it down to his very marrow. It did not center on simply love, but rather a real connection to another person. Dennis knew he could not replicate what he shared with Colin, and neither did he think it possible with someone not his brother, but he yearned for the feeling being deeply accepted, respected, and understood. It seemed like Cameron might be able to provide that. He tilted his head forward and gently kissed the young man on the forehead. Then Dennis laid back and luxuriated in the quiet moment. 

Since neither worked on Saturdays, Dennis and Cameron spent the day together. Cameron tagged along to the libraries and public record houses. He said he found it astounding how firmly Dennis could focus on a project. He also marveled at Dennis' complete willingness to exploit the paper supplies of public services. For lunch they went to visit the tomb of Thomas North, Earl of Nottingham. Although Dennis saw other ghosts walking around the Memorial Gardens, he neither acknowledged nor interacted with them. Throughout their tour, Dennis recited the history of Thomas Lester Jonathan North as he understood it. He thought if spoke it aloud, it might generate new ideas. While that did not happen, his recitation seemed to fascinate Cameron. 

"It's like you really know this guy!" Cameron commented as they headed toward the nearest bus stop. 

"I guess I do," Dennis agreed. "And I'm convinced someone murdered him, Cam. None of the facts make any sense if you take out the killing. I think if he could, Thomas would tell me himself." 

"What about a séance?" 

Dennis raised an eyebrow. 

"Alright, bad idea, but how else can you prove any this?" Cameron backed away from the suggestion. 

The young wizard did not tell the young mortal man he found it an interesting idea. However, he did not need to call upon the spirit of Thomas North since Dennis could talk to him whenever he wished. The idea intrigued because he might be able to contact others who might know something. Dennis stored the notion. 

"Good question, and I'm still figuring that out. To me it looks like someone tried to make Thomas seem unimportant, and I want to know why. He only got five measly sentences in the official Nottinghamshire history!" 

"Maybe he didn't do anything important," Cameron argued as they sat under the terminal awning to avoid direct exposure to the hot sun. 

Dennis frowned. 

"You're one who said he was the earl for only two years. What sort of impact could he make in that time? His brother was earl for almost fifty-two years, so do the math, Denny." 

The young wizard nodded. 

"You need evidence. Some record or public notice of something he did; otherwise, Thomas North was just a caretaker for two years. Didn't he do anything that made an impact on the estates of Nottingham?" 

"Great Merlin, he did… and he told me!" Dennis said in an excited hush. 

"Told you? And what does Merlin have to do with this?" Cameron asked and looked askance at him. 

"Just an expression at my school I sort of picked up, and I read in one of the reports where Thomas and his father, the Earl of Nottingham, Richard North, annexed some land from one of the competing families, the Hickings, who were trying to nick some land from them. I think Thomas engineered the transaction!" 

"And now you have a motive for murder. Land was big deal to the nobility. It's basically what made them rich. Do you have a record of that transaction?" 

Dennis grinned at the inquisitive expression of his friend and said: "Not yet, but I think I know right where to go to get it." 

"Today? On Saturday? None of the county offices are open," Cameron reminded him. 

"Well, gives me an excuse to come back next weekend." 

"So, now you need an excuse?" 

"What? You thought I was coming to Nottingham just to see all the lovely people?" Dennis queried in a surprised manner. 

Cameron bumped their shoulders together and started chuckling. Dennis reached over and snagged the dark hand. Their fingers twined together. While he may not be able to live openly as a wizard, Dennis arrived at the conclusion he could, should, and would live openly as a gay man. Cameron taught him the value of that. They drew a stare from the only other person waiting at the stop with them. Dennis formed the fast opinion the woman needed to sort out her issues. 

Dennis nearly forgot his wizardhood during the rest of the day and over the course of the night. Cameron's friends made him feel very welcome in their company, and they seemed genuinely happy for Cameron. Dennis heard from the others that Cameron played the field far and wide, but never seemed satisfied with any man he met. Julia, who he first met weeks before, privately told him Cameron quit playing around. She said he waited for Dennis to call and visit on daily basis. The news thunderstruck the wizard. The image of Cameron Vall wormed deeper into his brain. It also called forth powerful emotions. His body buzzed, and the lights overhead flickered. Dennis internally dialed it back. 

Throughout the evening Dennis gave up the pretense and admitted to himself he wanted a deeper, stronger relationship with Cameron. Although far, far different than what emerged between his brother and him, it touched the place within that craved an honest and solid connection with another person. Despite all that, Dennis also knew he could say nothing yet to Cameron. The young wizard needed to determine how to conduct himself in order to uphold the secrecy statutes and still include someone – specifically, a muggle – into the very core of his life. By the end of the night, one filled with shared laughter and merriment, Dennis decided he would accept Hermione Granger's offer. If anyone could see through the intricacies of what he desired, then it seemed logical the smartest and most talented witch would definitely be the one. 

"Why so soon?" Cameron complained when Dennis finally lived up to the threat and rose from bed in the morning. 

"Well, got to catch the train back to St. Alban's," he began, although he would seldom, if ever, ride the commuter trains. "Second, got to get ready for work for tomorrow. Third, I've got a book's worth of pages I need to read if I'm going to make any sense of this North case and figure out what I need to do next." 

Dennis stood and then stooped to find his clothing. 

"My god, you got the skinniest arse I ever saw," the wizard heard behind him. 

"Does that mean you need, um… something more?" 

"No, you git," Cameron laughed. "I like how I can get both my hands 'round it. I think it'd do both of us a world of good if you came back to bed and let me hold onto it. Keep it warm. What do you say?" 

The wizard hopped through the bedroom as he tried to put a leg into his underwear. Although he felt like he could use a shower, Dennis realized he would not leave until dark if he took that path. Once successful with his briefs, he went in search of his shorts and tee-shirt. However, he continued the conversation. 

"I'd say tempting and I don't have a lot of willpower when it comes to you, but I really need to get a lot of stuff done, Cam," Dennis begged off from the request. 

"No willpower? Not bloody likely. Give it anymore thought 'bout maybe relocating here?" 

"You could always come to St. Alban's… or we could both go to London." 

Dennis discovered his shorts under a chair near the corner where he tossed his backpack. He actually sat on the chair to slip his legs into the garment. His eyes kept flicking over to look at the beautiful form stretched out on the bed. Practical considerations, however, continued to win the battle in his head. 

"Too goddamn expensive is what that town is, and you could always collect trash up here," the young man lying naked in the bed replied. 

"And it wouldn't pay half of what I'm making with Odpadki. It's specialized work what we do, and he pays me more the more I learn. Guess you could say I'm sort of like his apprentice," Dennis explained without explaining anything. 

"You could commute." 

"Ooh, not as much fun as you think," Dennis responded because he knew nothing about the train service between the two cities. He stood to pull on his shorts. 

"Sure. It's be a bit of slog," Cameron said in a dour voice. "Last time I took the train to London it was a four-hour ride." 

"Look, I know why why, but why this push on me moving to Nottingham?" Dennis asked out of simple curiosity. 

"Well, 'cause in all the talks we've had, I never hear you mention any friends. Never hear you say you went out and did this or did that. I hear a lot about your folks, but it's like you got no life between them and your work, Denny. I'm not letting you count the investigation, either. Worries me if I have to tell the truth. It's like you're training to be a hermit." 

While Cameron spoke, Dennis went in search of his shirt. Even though he wore it the day before, he would change within the hour. His brain also rejected the idea of spending three hours for a one-way trip every weekday, a six-hour daily total, in order to live in Nottingham and work in St. Alban's. Besides, he privately reasoned, most of the waste removal work happened around London. Dennis shook his head while crouching down grab his shirt. 

"No?" Cameron responded to his head movement. "Then tell me what you really got going in St. Alban's?" 

"I didn't mean no to what you said, just thinking of that daily ride back and forth to St. Alban's. It'd probably eat up half the time I was awake," Dennis countered. 

"Probably, but I still don't understand why you're so married to that place." 

"It's home. It's where my parents live. It's where Colin used to live." 

A hush fell between them. Cameron began to nod his head. Dennis walked over to the bed, sat on the edge, and leaned in close to the dark face. 

"But I'm not saying I can't make a new home at a later time," he quietly intoned. "Once we really know what this is between us, then we can really talk. Like you said: let's just take this as comes for right now." 

"Sure, sorry," Cameron rejoined in the same tone. "Guess I'm being greedy. It'd be nice if I could ring you up and have you meet me somewhere for dinner… or go to a movie or a pub. Instead, I just got to wait until something drags you up here to do research… and I know it's not fair to you having to make the trip all the time." 

"Ever hear me complain, Cam?" 

"No, and now I feel like an even bigger arsehole. I just… Denny, this seems like it's gonna be so good with us, and I'm not very patient when I want something." 

Dennis smiled. The words thrilled him. Despite that, his brain warned him the road to fulfillment would be tricky. Moment by moment it became clear he moved further out of his depth. Not only did he lack even a shred of practical working knowledge when it came to relationships, he needed to balance it against the reality of his wizardry. The complexities began to stagger him. 

"Will figure something out when the time is right," Dennis told the young man staring at him, but he actually said it to himself. 

Cameron raised his head and planted his lips on Dennis'. It spoke where the voice failed, and Dennis loved what it said to him. He returned the kiss with real passion. Several minutes flew by as they enjoyed themselves. When a hand slid up his shirt, Dennis began to snicker. 

"Yeah, yeah, so sue me for trying," Cameron said amid a small chuckle. 

"I never had anyone want me before like this," Dennis confessed. 

"Works out for me then, doesn't it? Means I get you all to myself." 

"This weekend sort of cemented that, Cam." 

"See! Right there. You say stuff like that, and then you want me to behave and be patient. I can't fucking do it, Denny. Not when you're looking all cute and vulnerable. God, I want to strip you out of those damn clothes so bad right now!" 

"I've half a mind to let you," Dennis quipped. A second hand slid against his side under his shirt. "But I can't." 

"Wanker!" Cameron grumped. 

"Listen, I don't think Mister Odpadki’s got a full week of jobs lined up, so maybe I'll come up sometime during the week. Plus, I'll be here on Friday night and we have the weekend." 

"Don't make promises you can't keep!" 

"I'm only promising Friday. I did say maybe about the middle of the week." 

"Facking technicalities," the nude young man huffed. 

Dennis grinned again. Even at their most intense point, Stewart Ackerly never expressed such sentiments. The tidbits of information Cameron's friends passed along over the past two nights sorely tested Dennis' resolve. Thus, he forced himself to stand before he lost every scrap of reserve. 

"I'll call you tonight, Mister Vall," Dennis said, and all but growled the words. 

"You'd better!" 

The young wizard walked over to the chair and took hold of his backpack. When he turned around, he saw exactly what he would miss by leaving so early. His heart thudded and thumped against his chest. 

"Get over here and kiss me good-bye," Cameron petulantly demanded. 

"No," Dennis flatly rejoined. 

"Wha… why?" 

"'Cause if I do, there's no way in hell I'm gonna get out of here before suppertime!" 

Cameron threw back his head and started laughing. Dennis took it as his chance to escape before every bit of his resistance lay in tatters on the floor along with his clothes. He slipped out of the room and aimed for the short hallway. 

"Bastard! Coward!" Cameron yelled after him. 

"Yep! Right in two!" Dennis returned the verbal volley as the exit door loomed in front of him. 

"Paybacks are bitch, Denny!" 

Dennis began laughing as he unlocked the door and made his exit. The door closed automatically in his wake. He trotted to the exit and hoped he would not find a naked Cameron standing at the window yelling further invective at him for his manner of departure. The outside world looked stark under the heavy cloud cover. Dennis did not hesitate and aimed for the alley next to Cameron's flat complex. Once sure no one could see him, the wizard fished out his wand from the backpack and disapparted to the Nottingham apparation atation. He then followed the familiar route to home. 

"When did you get in?" His father asked without looking up from the Sunday Telegraph edition. An empty coffee cup rested in one hand. 

"Replendum," Dennis whispered while intently staring at the cup after coming to a halt at the dining table. The residue in the cup acted as the focal point, and suddenly it began to fill with hot coffee. 

Seconds later his father glanced down at the now steaming mug and said: "That was nice. Thanks, Denny." 

"Got in 'bout a half an hour ago," the younger Creevey said while taking a seat at the table and resting the backpack on his lap so he could begin to pull out his research. The small desk in his room would not suffice. "Needed a wash up first." 

"Had fun?" His father inquired and glanced up from the paper. 

"Yeah. It's so different hanging out with mu… non-magical people," he answered. "Weird not having my wand on me every time we went out." 

"We, huh? How is your, ah, young man doing?" 

Dennis blinked in surprise at his father. It usually took his mother to bring up anything to do with a possible love life he might lead. Following a few seconds, his father rolled his eyes. 

"Cam's good. I think I'm going to bring him down next week so he can meet you and Mum and see where I live," Dennis replied and thought of a new plan. It gave him a good reason to call Cameron that evening. 

"Oh, getting serious?" His father mumbled. 

Once more Dennis gaped at his father. 

"You all right, Denny?" 

"Yeah, Dad, it's just you've never been, um, this interested in, ah, this part of my life before." 

It nearly shocked Dennis when the man folded the newspaper closed. He then crossed his hands over it and laced his fingers together. Nervousness coursed through Dennis, and he made a few small coughs. 

"Denny, you're mum told me what you were thinking of doing as you save up money. She doesn't really like the idea of you moving out," Duncan Creevey bluntly stated. 

"Not like I was planning on moving tomorrow," Dennis countered. 

"Maybe not, but… after everything, well, you know how she is with you. Can't say I'm that far off from her, too." 

Dennis goggled. 

"Oh, get off it, son. Yes, I care. Yes, I love you. Yes, I don't understand most of your life, but it doesn't mean I want you to be unhappy with it," the man grumbled. "In the last six weeks you've walked the stage at Hogwarts, you got a job, you've got this whole noble death investigation, you're chipping in on expenses, and now it looks like you've found someone. It's hard for parents to watch their kid grow up in such a short amount of time. I'm still scratching my head trying guess how it all happened." 

"Huh. Never looked at it like that. Didn't realize it all happened so fast," Dennis said in mild surprise. 

"We didn't either 'til your mum and me spent the weekend alone. It was like it was when you were in school 'cept we knew you was out living your life this time. We discussed you last night when we realized you wasn't coming back right away. You want to talk about surprised," his father stated and did not underrate the last statement. 

"What was so surprising?" He prodded his father. 

"Well, first, having to talk about you in adult terms and seeing it actually applied this time," the man began. "Look, I know it hasn't always been easy between us, I really do, and maybe I need to make some apologies, but…" 

"Dad, stop," Dennis interjected. "I know it hasn't been easy for you. You never expected to wind up with two wizard sons. That changed everything. Then one your boys goes and gets killed in that bloody stupid war. Changed everything again." 

Duncan Creevey's eyebrows drew together, and he stared down at the paper. 

"I keep saying we need to talk about it, but… maybe we'll never be ready. After that, you and Mum found out I was gay in the worst way, and it all went and changed again. It was a lot for me to handle, and I can't really imagine what it was like for you and Mum. Everything just sort of got away from us," he said what he believed to his father. 

"You turning into an adult, Denny. Sometimes, though… I miss packing up you and Colin – my boys – and going fishing for a day. You know we haven't done that once since you started at Hogwarts?" 

Dennis blinked in surprise. 

"Seven years. That's a good bit of your childhood, and me and your mother missed a lot of it with you two being away at school," his father nearly lamented. Dennis opened his mouth, and his father stayed him with a raised hand. "And you needed to go to that school. You both had gifts, maybe gifts we can never fully appreciate, but it didn't take much to realize there's wasn't a lot we could do for you here. You know that Mister Flitwick wrote to us to say you were one of his best students?" 

The younger man twitched his head back and forth. 

"We mightn't ever really understand each other, Denny, but I really do want you to be happy. Don't let me get in your way." 

"You're not in my way, Dad, and I want you to be there with me," Dennis quietly stated as tears silently rolled down his cheeks. "Think maybe next weekend you'll take me and Cam fishing?" 


	9. Chapter 9

A week of difficult and steady work, a week of relentless research, and the several attempts it took to convince Cameron to come to St. Alban's made Dennis yearn for a relaxing weekend. For two days Dennis reminded his parents not to talk about anything magical in front of Cameron unless they wanted to be raided by the Ministry of Magic. It led to some tensions, yet none of it ever focused on Cameron in particular. Saturday morning arrived, as did the train from Nottingham carrying Cameron Vall. On Sunday morning a train rolled back to Nottingham with a seemingly very pleased young man.

“Wasn’t he just wonderful,” his mother said after Dennis and his father returned from taking Cameron to the train station. She laid out a light lunch for them. “You seemed fond of Cam, Duncan.” 

“Surprised me, that’s for sure. And you didn’t know he knew that much about cars, Denny?” His father responded in a pleasant manner. 

“Not ‘til he started talking to you, Dad. Never came up before,” Dennis told him while he waited his turn to take some slices of bread. “Mum, Dad, thanks for making Cam feel welcome. He wasn’t lying when he said he had a good time.” 

“Didn’t take a lot. You found a very nice young man, and a plumber as well. That could come in handy in the future,” Jill Creevey said with a note of finality. 

“I’m not dating him just in case loo backs up.” 

His father started chuckling. 

"So, this is serious and not just extended snogging?" His mother inquired. 

"Mum!" 

His parents started laughing, and his father said: "I guess it's the same in each generation. Remember when your Pa asked what my intentions were toward you, and he wasn't talking about playing snooker." 

Duncan and Jill Creevey giggled in a way that made their son’s face turn red. He understood what they meant, he simply did not want to think about it in any capacity. Dennis reached for the mustard to put on his bread. 

“Denny?” His father said his name. 

Dennis looked up at his father while his mother went after the roast beef. 

“I…” the man started, breathed through his nose rather heavily, adjusted his sitting position, and made a small frown. His face then relaxed. “Denny, you looked happy while Cam was here. Haven’t seen you smile or laugh that much in a long time. He’s a nice lad, Cam is, and he seems to like you an awful lot.” 

“Yeah,” Dennis sighed the word and smiled. 

“And it was fun going fishing with you again. Cam was shite with a rod, but you remembered. You both seemed to enjoy yourselves.” 

“Duncan, language,” his mother automatically said about a certain word as she wrangled a slice of Cornish yarg cheese onto the layers of roast beef. 

“Forgot how much I liked fishing. Shame we didn’t catch anything,” the young man mumbled while arranging his sandwich. 

“In the middle of the day? Denny, the fish hardly bite at that time. We should’ve waited ‘til evening.” 

“Not on your life. I’d been cooking all day. You’d wreck the meal,” the matriarch of the small family protested. “But it was nice to hear you had a good time. You and Dennis should go fishing more often. Wouldn’t mind a fillet of fresh-caught trout.” 

Dennis nodded his head and said: “Not a bad idea, Mum. What do you say, Dad?” 

“You’re going to have make time for it. You’ve done a fair bit of trotting ‘round these last few weeks, and I know part of it was going off to see Cam.” 

“You do remember it only takes me ‘bout ten seconds to return from Nottingham if I apparate to the Ministry station first?” He reminded his father. 

Duncan Creevey's face went through a rapid shift in expressions. He finally settled on a mix of annoyed and impressed. Dennis did not show any emotion as his father decided on one countenance, who also worked on completing his sandwich. 

“Well, that is something,” the man mumbled. “Not sure how you can keep from talking ‘bout or doing… magic ‘round Cam and his friends. Pretty clear he has no idea you’re a wizard.” 

Dennis shrugged as he chewed on a mouthful of food. The mustard and yarg added the right bit of creaminess and tang to the roast beef. He took a sip of the Fanta Orange his mother put out for him. Although his parents allowed him to have an ale or beer in the house, it weakened his control over magic. He also saw how others act when drunk at pubs, and Dennis did not like that look. 

“Actually, it's pretty easy,” Dennis responded. “I never bring my wand with me when we head out someplace. Sure, there's some non-verbal magic I could do, but I'd have to have a reason. Then it’s just a matter of controlling my emotions.” 

“That why the lights were flickering last night during dinner?” Queried his mother. 

“Yeah. Cam was rubbing his foot on my leg." 

He watched his parents glance at each other. 

"Honestly, how it is any different from your relationship?" The young man inquired. 

"S'pose it isn't," his father more or less agreed. "Seeing you with… another bloke is a lot different than just knowing it. Makes it real, if you take my meaning." 

Dennis nodded. 

"Remember the first time Colin came home and showed us what he learned at school? Even you looked surprised when he got that piece paper to fold itself into that bird shape and fly around the room," his mother raised an excellent comparison. 

"Good point, Mum." 

The family ate for a little while. The Colin effect took momentary hold. Dennis helped himself to some crisps from the bowl set in the middle of the table. The meal felt like he sat in a pub, except he could hear his own thinking. However, he preferred homemade pub crisps, but he would not complain about the Walkers. As he contemplated the various brands of the snack food, a tapping against the window near the rear door sounded. They each looked into the direction of the noise. A small brown owl with a letter in its beak clung to the tiny windowsill. Dennis stood and went to the door after snagging a piece of meat from the tray. The owl gladly made the exchange, all but inhaled the roast beef, and then silently flapped away. 

"Mister Odpadki says I got the day off tomorrow. Didn't get the regular routes finished with all the special work we did last week," Dennis said, half-reading the missive aloud, as he walked back to the table. 

"Well, aren't you the lucky one," his father teased him. 

"Want to trade me a day of work?" He asked. 

"Son, I'd eat my own boots first after a rainy day at the dairy rather than face some of what you do. I know you keep telling us it's not dangerous, but some of it sounds hinky." 

"Not dangerous," Dennis replied even though he and his employer came up to the edge lethal once or twice. "Witches and wizards are an odd lot, and they make all sorts of trouble for themselves. They'll get deep into something 'fore they realize they're making a mess of things or a huge mistake." 

"That what you're going to do?" The lone woman at the table questioned her son in a serious tone. 

"No, Mum, I'm not. There's still a lot of regular magic for me to figure out before I go swan diving into the more complex branches. I'm fine with charms and transfigurations. I like… usable magic: magic that can help people. I showed you that map from Nottingham. That's more my speed," the wizard rejoined in a thoughtful manner. 

His words appeared to appease his mother, and Dennis saw his father's head bob a few times. 

"And what I'm doing for Lord North doesn't even come close to dangerous. It's more like… like… like a book report. I'm just trying to sort out what really happened almost two hundred and fifty years ago," Dennis told them after deciding to go a step further. "I'll probably never figure this out, but at least I got to help reunite a man and his daughter." 

"That's a lovely thing you've done there, son," his mother stated in a sympathetic voice. 

"Aye, Denny, you did a nice piece of good there," his father agreed. 

"I just wish I could make sense of it all. I'm missing something important somewhere. I can feel it, but I can't see it. There aren't enough clues and neither Thomas or Lucia can give me any help." 

The notion continued to plague Dennis through the meal and followed him to his room after he helped with the cleaning. He sat at his small desk, purchased when he still attended a local public school, and spread his research out around him. An effort to create a timeline of events did not yield anymore information. Time and again he returned to his handwritten notes from the various interviews he conducted with Lord North and Mrs. Hughes, his daughter. Sometimes Dennis wished he could own or use a computer. He heard about databases that people used and, although he knew next to nothing about the technology, it seemed to aid finding patterns in information. 

"I'm done for now," he sighed and sat at the dining table with his desert that evening. "Think I might head back to the archives in Nottingham to see if I missed anything thing in the old constabulary records… but they all thought he died of natural causes. They didn't do an investigation." 

"Denny, you've said all along you might hit a dead end, and maybe this is it. Even your friend Lord North said you've done more than he could've expected. It's an old, old case. Like you said: someone went out of their way to hide facts, and it looks like they did a first rate job of it," Duncan Creevey told his son before shoveling more bramble gelato into his mouth. 

"It's just not fair," Dennis made one of his favorite complaints. 

"World's not often fair." 

"No, it isn't. Lot's of surprises in life, and sometimes it turns on the most insignificant event. You haven't even found a proper motive for why someone wanted to do in the Earl of Nottingham. Pretty bold move, I'd wager, even for back then," his mother added. 

"True, true, Jill. It'd have to be someone who had access to him… someone he didn't suspect… someone close he'd trust." 

"And whoever did this had magic. Back then they'd get tortured or killed for being a witch. Even today you're kind don't move around in the open, Dennis, so the culprit must've worked in disguise. Your father is right, love, you need to find the real motive behind this, otherwise you're just chasing down dark alleys," his mother concluded. 

It astonished Dennis yet again how his mother's love of crime and detective shows on the television influenced her day-to-day thinking. It even seemed to infect his father to a small degree. However, they did manage to boil the case down to the essentials. Unfortunately, Dennis came to those same conclusions over a week before. He sighed and finished his desert. All the while his brain wrestled with the mysteries surrounding Lord North's murder. 

Dennis departed early the next morning before his father left the house. He grabbed a milk bar for breakfast and told his parents he planned on visiting archives, libraries, and long-deceased earl. His mind simply could not give up the hunt for Thomas' killer. Despite remaining shrouded, Dennis felt he lurked around the edges of the truth. It simply required more digging and thinking. 

"Alright," he said to Thomas and Lucia when he arrived on the promontory, "we're going to go through this again. I'm going to write down every little detail you tell me. I missed something, and I think between the two of you I can sort it out." 

"Your perseverance is admirable, Dennis," Lucia quietly said in the early morning light that did not entirely wash out her features. 

"And you're going to answer, Mrs. Hughes, while I watch your father. We're going back to the night of the murder." 

Dennis listened for a second time while Lucia talked about the night of her father's murder. She repeated all she could remember that proved to be scant little since she did not actually witness the events. She spoke from assumed knowledge. However, Dennis accurately transcribed her words. The sun rose over the mountains in the east, spreading more light across the highlands. Hogwarts began to glow as the marble and sandstone of castle began to reflect the rays. The Norths became harder to visually discern. 

"Okay, that's what you told me before," he confessed to the ghostly pair. "Now, was there anybody new around? Someone you didn't know?" 

"Mister Creevey," Lord North spoke up. "In my duty as Earl of Nottingham I frequently met or associated with people I hardly knew. Some, not at all. My chief task came in managing the business, fields, and herds of Nottingham. I interacted with fourteen main tenants, at least two dozen smaller lessees, more itinerant field laborers than I could ever count. Merchants and artisans of varying stripes came through Nottingham during all seasons as needs want. I could not begin to list them all." 

"But you knew, at least by face, the person who killed you!" Dennis exclaimed. 

Thomas became like a statue. 

"Any cattle on your estates?" The young living man inquired. 

"We dealt mainly with White Park and Hereford," the spectral man heaved the words with relief. "White Park were exceptionally good for providing a lean, robust meat, and clean, thin leathers." 

"Lucia, this truly is up to you to remember some detail of the people your father saw on a daily basis," Dennis pleaded with the woman. "Think of the tenants and the workers. Was there anyone you new who showed more often than others?" 

"I so sorry, Dennis, and it grieves me so to tell you I seldom met with any of my father's associates. In my day, a lady of my status would not mingle with common field hands and laborers, and it hardly bares mentioning I would never meet with the tenants. All of that remained in the hands of father and Uncle Richard," Lucia nearly quailed the words. 

"Lucia, it's okay. It's all right. Times were different then… and it just goes to show how out of my depth I am," he tried to comfort her as the woman's distress grew. 

"Dennis?" Thomas said his name. 

Dennis glanced at the man. 

"In all the years you studied at this venerable school, did you know all the names of the students in advanced years or, as you advanced, the lesser years?" 

"No, can't say as I do. That's a fair number of people," he admitted. 

"Now, during the years of Voldemort's rise," and Dennis marveled at the way Thomas fearlessly said the name, "were all his spies and ne're-do-wells revealed either before or after the battles?" 

Dennis shook his head. 

"Should you venture to write a history of that period, would rely on only a few sources or would you cast your net wide in search of choicer and little know facets?" 

"So, you're saying I'm too fixed on what you and your daughter know?" The young man raced ahead. 

"Perceptive of you," Thomas rejoined and nodded his head. "Since it is abundantly clear at this juncture the two principal parties cannot lend you the details you desire, perhaps it would better suit your endeavors too examine the broader picture. I believe the expression is 'losing sight of the forest for the trees.'" 

"Never quite got that one." 

"You are letting the details and your personal attachment to them blind you, Dennis. Step back and consider the whole." 

Dennis bobbed his head as he took in the advice. 

"Also, and I cannot provide you specifics even should you ask, but there is one avenue in this you ignore to your greater frustration," the former Earl of Nottingham said very slowly and in a very pointed manner. 

Lucia shifted her gaze from her father to Dennis. 

"Avenue?" Dennis mumbled in confusion. 

"It is an attribute we share in common which Lucia does not." 

"What? Are you saying you're gay?" 

Lucia gasped and snickered. 

Thomas started to chuckle, shook his head back and forth, and replied: "While I believe I would find myself in esteemed company, no, Dennis, that is not the facet about which I speak." 

"I believe my father means magic," the woman chuckled the words. 

"Oh, yeah. That goes without saying, doesn't it?" Dennis replied and felt a bit embarrassed. 

"Apparently not," Lord North answered through a smile. 

"Yeah, I get it." 

A gentle breeze came up from the loch as more sunlight peaked over the hills and warmed the valley below. Birds chirped and the insects started to take wing. Far below the giant squid surfaced for the first time. The ripples darting fish dotted the watter as the enormous freshwater cephalopod began a search for breakfast. Rattles and thumps issued from the castle as the stones absorbed heat from the sun. 

"Mister Creevey. What do you think the chances are I would be only wizard or witch in and around Nottingham?" 

"We already know one snuffed you, so… ooh, I see," Dennis began to say and switched mental tracks as the pieces snapped together in his mind. "But I already checked the constables reports from back then, but there wasn't an auror office in Nottingham. The Ministry was still pretty new then." 

"But not the Wizard's Council." 

Half an hour later Dennis sat in Professor Flitwick's office enjoying a cup of tea with biscuits. The man still wore his formal attire, although he shed his jacket when he invited Dennis to sit and talk with him. The waxed mustache curled against either cheek, and the spectacles reflected the light from stained glass window, a new feature since the war, and the myriad of lamps spreading a cheery glow throughout. The oddly broad yet pointed face, a mix of goblin and human if one actually cared to study the visage, never lost its inquisitive or intelligent cast. 

"Sounds like you've been busy these past few weeks, Dennis," the diminutive professor said in a pleased voice. 

"The job, a boyfriend… I think, and this investigation have kept me going, Professor. I feel different," he quipped. 

"I'm glad you secured employment in a field you find interesting, and I never once really thought about magical trash before. I imagine that gets tricky." 

"Mostly for me mum, and she won't do my laundry anymore. Keeps on having a go at her." 

Dennis and his mentor shared a chuckle. They sat in cushioned wingback chairs. A small ottoman sat before the professor's chair so he could rest his feet. Between them a rather ornately carved pedestal table stood and on which the tray carrying the tea service got placed. Further down on the floor an area rug bearing the crest of the Ravenclaw House kept the cold from the floor stones at bay. 

"Professor, I'm sorry I haven't visited as much… and I've been here a few times…" 

"Nonsense, my dear boy. Nonsense!' Professor Flitwick animatedly interjected. "It does me good to hear you are so engaged in your life now. It even sounds as if your situation at home is beginning to sort itself out." 

"It is. Mum and Dad were really nice to Cam and seemed to like him. I like him," Dennis provided another detail. 

"Seems more than like to me. New love is so exciting!" 

Dennis felt his cheeks grow warm, and the asked: "But… what about him being a muggle?" 

"Good gracious, Dennis, haven't you figured out how many muggle-magical pairings there are in this world? You are by no means the first and certainly will not be the last wizard or witch who falls in love with a muggle. Be sensible. Keep your magic contained. Someday if this… or any future relationship with a muggle looks permanent, notify the Ministry," his friend advised him. 

"Notify the Ministry? The Ministry of Magic?" 

"Mmm," the professor said as swallowed a mouthful of tea. "Even before the war the Ministry found ways to deal with situations like yours. You'd be amazed how fast a witch or a wizard can turn dark when told they can't love whom they choose. Read your history on Grindelwald. One of his appeals sought to eliminate the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy to allow open magical-muggle trysts… although many doubt he meant it. He wanted to subjugate muggles: not free them." 

"You know, Professor, I've spent almost more time in libraries and archives since I got out of school than I did while in school!" Dennis humorously griped. 

"Ah! And now you seek learning to further yourself. While you were here, at least I tried to show how make do for yourself once you left these halls. Your real education, Mister Creevey, has just begun!" 

Dennis and his former teacher, now his friend, eyed one another. They sat within the comfortably appointed rooms given over to the permanent charms instructor. Ravenclaw royal blue and silver became the predominant color scheme. On a shelving unit behind the professor sat an assortment of bric-a-brac and oddities often associated with wizards. On the few times he visited the man's private suite during his school years, Dennis often wondered about the items. Now, he forgot about them as he engaged in meaningful conversation. He started to grin, and the professor did as well. It dawned on Dennis he brought more good news than bad to share with his mentor. He smiled. 

"And that," Professor Flitwick said and pointed to the young man's mouth, "is because?" 

"School seems ages ago, Professor. I think it's 'cause I not just sitting in my room at home thinking about the past all the time. The funny part is I've got Peeves to thank for this. He's the one who sent me to talk to Thomas," the younger wizard explained. 

"Yes, Peeves. Professor McGonagall asked me to ask you about his history as you know it. She also told me what you said to her… about many things, but on Peeves I agree with you. If he is happy with his lot, who are we to say otherwise even if it does annoy us on a daily basis." 

"Thank you. I'd hate to have to tell you no about something." 

"I would never ask you to betray a friend, Dennis." 

Professor Flitwick, nearly alone of all the teachers at Hogwarts, seemed to understand the young wizard and the old poltergeist did, indeed, become friends. The professor never warned Dennis away from forming a relationship with Peeves as many others did. While he established many fine associations with other ghosts and paintings in the castle, Peeves stood out from the rest. Try as he might to pester Dennis to madness, the poltergeist also shared valuable pieces of wisdom – perhaps in a calculating and cold method – Dennis could use to stave off his detractors. More often than not, the once lonely teenage wizard got entertained by Peeves' wild antics and even wilder tales. Moreover, the spectral man also seemed to gain something from the friendship. 

"It's his story to tell when he wants," Dennis quietly stated as he did to everyone who asked. 

"May I tell you something else people need to consider when dealing with Peeves' type?" 

The younger man nodded. 

"Excising a poltergeist is a far different matter than removing a ghost. Peeves, if the Sorting Hat is to be believed, began as a ghost. However, when he became… rambunctious, they tried to exorcise him. In doing so, they transformed him into a poltergeist because he came to think of Hogwarts as his true home," Professor Flitwick explained in a serious tone. "If they try again with him in his current form, he could… mutate into a demon. I think Peeves feasts on the stray magic around Hogwarts, and, as such, I fear they would turn Peeves into a dangerous monster." 

"I understand," Dennis rejoined in a grave tone. 

After a few solemn seconds as the information sank into Dennis' brain, his mentor said: "Now, you said you had another question for me, Dennis." 

"Yes, I do," he replied and shook his head a little. "How find out which witches and wizards were located in any area two hundred and fifty years ago?" 

"The Census Veneficus. It's been run every year for the last six hundred and twenty some odd years, and they still run it today. It's an accounting of most witches and wizards, except the dark ones. They tend to avoid the census, but some still makes the rolls. You might also want to look into the Decennial Magus Annales the Wizengamot publishes each decade. It's a chronicle of events in our world, and a prime source most historians use," the little man informed him. 

Dennis blinked in surprise. He never heard of either publication, and it seemed to him they should be made known to students. The professor stared at him for a second. 

"You can find copies at the Ministry library, Dennis." 

"Why didn’t they tell me about those? I even asked for historical sources and directories!" Dennis grumbled. 

"When you see the volumes, you'll understand." 

Two hours later he stood in the Ministry library staring a rack that ran for twelve meters containing all of the books in the latest edition of the Decennial Magus Annales. When asked if he could see the copy covering 1760 through 1762, the librarians gazed at him as if Dennis lost his mind. They then explained he would need to go to Holgate Park in York where he would find the Ministry of Magic Library Annex Catacombs. Dennis learned the library annex reached seven stories beneath the ground and spread out over five acres. Three full floors, they told him, got dedicated to past editions of the Decennial Magus Annales. He could also find past editions of the Census Veneficus, but they could not guarantee all volumes would be present. 

Dennis got a map of the Holgate Park area, and then went in search of the apparition platform sigil listing. He never fully realized the sprawling nature of the Ministry of Magic, and it gave him insight as to how Voldemort gained access to so many parts of the Ministry and the United Kingdom on the whole. Only the Flue Network proved more complex than the apparition station system. He found the sigil, and it allowed him to make the jump to the library annex in York. Dennis also discovered the annex could only be accessed via apparating, which he found odd. 

"Hello?" Dennis shouted when he arrived at what appeared to be a front reception desk. "Hello?" 

His voice echoed around him. Magical sconces cast pools of light along the vast corridors that ran both north and south along with east and west. The black marble flooring absorbed the light without fully reflecting it. The shelves stood three meters from floor to ceiling. Dennis could see the spines of books and some of the chains that held them in place. Unlike the library at Hogwarts, he would not be automatically protected against aggressive and dark tomes. He strolled along the front desk looking for any form of instruction. A single inlaid bronze ring with the words 'Touch Wand Here for Assistance' carved in the loop adorned the stone counter top. He carried out the action. 

Years before on the television, prior to when his and his brother's magic caused it to short circuit and the cathode ray tube to implode, Dennis saw a program about lighthouses along the coastal waters of England. The program discussed how modern navigation using global positioning satellites rendered foghorns superfluous. The show played a foghorn recording. Dennis got what he considered a good example of a real foghorn when a deep sound bellowed around him and nearly set loose his bowels at it reverberated through his body. It sounded three times, and he could hear it carrying down the various aisles. 

Moments later a broom zoomed over head while the rider exclaimed: "Here now! What'cha got to go and do that for?" 

"I yelled," Dennis replied as he jiggled one finger in an ear canal to restore his hearing, "but no one responded. Then I saw circle there and did what it said." 

The elderly man scowled at him. His robes flapped about his legs and provided a relatively disgusting view when seen from underneath. Dennis tried not to look and stare only at the face. 

"Could I get some assistance, please, sir?" 

"With what?" 

"I need to review at the Decennial Magus Annales for 1761 and the Census Veneficus for the same year," Dennis stated. 

"They're on different floors. Bring a broom with you… or flying carpet?" The wrinkled man inquired while scrutinizing him. 

"No one told me I needed to bring one." 

"Figures. Always leaving out the important part," the grizzled fellow grumped. "Hold on. We got loaners. Let me get one." 

It made sense to Dennis as he stood and waited. His eye kept returning to the brass circle in the stone, and he felt like touching his wand to it a second time. However, he did not bring a set of clean clothes with him, and it seemed certain repeated exposure to the call system would force him to soil his pants. His body continued to vibrate from the monstrous thrum. About two minutes after the clerk departed, he returned towing a rather sad looking broom next to him. He released it. In awkward jerks it floated downward. 

"It can be temperamental, but it works. It's got a listening port near the tip of the handle. Just shout the name of the book you're looking for, and it will do its best to take you to it," the seemingly completely unembarrassed man said from the broom floating two and half meters from the floor. 

"What do you mean do it's best?" Dennis asked since it seemed an important point. 

"It gets tired if has to go for too long. You'd better take the lift to the second floor first… or the stairs." 

"And what floor is the Census on?" 

"Sixth. Below this one. Might want to take the stairs coming up. The lifts get lazy on the way up and like to take their time. You might get stuck here for an extra two or three hours." 

Before Dennis could ask any further questions, the man zoomed away. Once more he toyed with the idea of using the call horn. Deciding against it, the young wizard carefully climbed aboard the very old Shooting Star. It barely seemed to hold his weight. Then Dennis climbed off and went in search of the lifts. The directional signs on the walls did not do a good job delineating between book sections and physical services. The use of the revelio spell proved even more useless as it caused his wand to point downward and spin in a circle when looking for the elevators. After hunting around for a few minutes, he cracked the code of the signs and found the lifts. 

Each floor Dennis passed lay in eerie silence. When the lift shuddered to a halt on the second sub-level and the door grudgingly opened, he stepped out into a darkened corridor. The magical sconces flickered to life and shed their wan light on the black marble floor. Dennis’ ears strained to pick up even a single sound, but only the echo of quiet greeted him. He climbed onto the shaky Shooting Star. It barely held him aloft. 

“Seventeen-sixty-one Decennial Magus Annales,” he said loudly toward the handle of the broom. 

Following four weak shudders, the broom began to move. It flew at a fast walking clip. While it became a little frustrating, Dennis got to see the library in greater detail. He also got completely lost as the broom turned several times and stair-stepped its way toward the destination. He passed stacks and stacks of the twelve-meter long racks of shelves, each rack containing one Annales edition. He also saw shelf upon self of commentary and other related historical works. The place smelled like dried out vellum, and it began to tickle the back of his nose and throat. The fact the Annales were non-magical in nature meant he did not suffer passing through randomly magically charged areas. It took almost ten minutes before the broom came to a limpid halt and sank to floor as if perishing. 

“Huh, it worked,” Dennis said as he scanned the main brace rail with the date carved into the wood every three meters. 

The rail also contained a month indicators. He immediately went to the section designated for September. Then Dennis stood and considered what to do when faced with the equivalent of eight five-thousand page volumes. His brain reminded him he already created spells for searching through large books. His wand appeared in his hand. Then Dennis retrieved his pen and a scroll of parchment and kept them at the ready. He spread his arms out in either direction and touched his wand to massive tome. 

“Illuminare page pernumero Thomas Lester Jonathan North,” Dennis incanted. 

Within the September section several pages glowed, but others in various other portions before and after September also lit up. Above his wand a list of page numbers appeared, each annotated with Thomas’ name, appeared. Dennis quickly recited the copying spell. His ballpoint pen skittered across the parchment preserving the information. Dennis decided to read the September information first. He flipped open to the first illuminated page, and his eyes immediately began to goggle. The very first sentence presented information he never knew. Dennis eyed his roll of parchment. He put it away and pulled out the thick notebook of spiral bound college-ruled paper. Then he made an adjustment to the copying spell so it would use a smaller sized font. He then set about learning some of the true history of Thomas Lester Jonathan North, Earl of Nottingham. 

Dennis exhausted three hours copying and reading the entries in the 1761 Decennial Magus Annales. He began to fear his ballpoint pen might run dry. It still produced legible script even by the end of massive copying job. His brain felt both mushy and overstuffed with new information, much would require greater scrutiny when he got home. He stowed his material in his backpack, grabbed the Shooting Star from where it nearly lay on the floor, and held out his hand with his wand resting on his palm. 

“Revelio exit stairs,” Dennis said after concentrating for a few moments. He then started to walk and follow the direction his wand indicated. He arrived at the stairs faster than it took to find the Annales location. 

The wide staircase made from the same green marble used at the Ministry led the upward for half the story distance, and then a switchback took him up the second half. The automated torches sprang to life as he got near. However, darkness both led and trailed him. As Dennis made his way along, he agreed with the librarian the broom would never survive travel through the stairwell. Years of practicing self-defense and training with ghosts and paintings in other combat skills left Dennis very fit. Working with Mr. Odpadki in waste removal continued that trend and toned his muscles. Thus, four flights of stairs did not tire or wind him. 

At the top of the stairs, Dennis mounted the broom. In a clear, loud voice he said: “Seventeen-sixty-one Census Veneficus!” 

It took thirty-four seconds before the broom began to move. As it traveled, and Dennis did not even bother to try to remember the trail, he pondered what he knew about brooms. He never got called on to play for the house quidditch team, so his interest in flying brooms fell on the pedestrian side. Cleansweeps, Comets, Firebolts, and Nibuses remained fairly popular, he recalled. Dennis knew little about them outside of the names, and he knew other brands and models existed. His pondering took him all the way to the stacks were the Census volumes got stored. When Dennis got off the broom, it flopped to the ground and rolled over. It seemed uncertain whether it would fly again any time soon. 

The shelves filled with the Census Veneficus stared at him. The spines got decorated with the year in Roman numerals. Dennis grunted in frustration. He pulled out his notebook and pen, and then sat on the floor. It took him several minutes to transpose the year from Arabic numbers to Roman numerals. He check it over three times to make certain he got it right. 

“Okay, M is one thousand, D is five hundred… add C for one hundred, and another C. L is fifty plus X for ten, I for one. MDCCLXI,” he mumbled to himself as a final check, It sounded right to him. 

He stood and started scanning the books and breathed a sigh of relief when he located the volume. The librarian at the Ministry of Magic library seemed to think editions might be missing. When Dennis began to remove the volume from the shelf, he almost dropped the book. The sheer weight of it made his arms sag and wobble. Instead of trying to carry it to a desk, Dennis set it on the floor. It felt like it weighed five stones. 

“What the bloody hell?” Dennis quailed when he flipped open the cover and examined the table of contents. 

The Census book presented a dizzying number of cross-reference listings. It organized witches and wizards by gender, age, location, height, weight, blood (although Dennis discovered this meant ethnicity), wand wood, wand core, wand length, shoe size, hat size, glove size, robe length, number of children, number of living children, number of deceased children, number of magical parents, number of muggle (although the book called them ‘nonmagi’) parents, region of claimed birth, region of actual birth, region of death, region(s) of false death reports, region of consistent habitation, region(s) of wizarding law infractions, number of reported sightings, and on and on. The table of contents, although the book termed it Order of Numerics, ran for over one hundred and seventy pages. The tables of data filled another one-thousand, three hundred, and fifty-five additional pages. 

Dennis spent forty-one minutes narrowing his search and honing his spell to limit the hits to only Nottingham and those witches and wizards living in or who passed through at the right time. Much to his tired astonishment, the list contained the names of fifty-four people. The results made the young wizard angry. He copied the information, including some of the data points he thought might come in useful. Dennis then spent a minute adjusting his searching charm to list only the unique names appearing in the Census and a total count. The results shocked Dennis. 

A lowly number of 21,866 sat at the bottom of the list. Dennis vaguely recalled the British population during the American revolt in 1776 hovered somewhere around seven million. He guess the population in 1761 to be between five and six million. It did not take a mathematical wizard to see the magical population in England existed far below one percent of the total population. Dennis recalled Professor Binns talking about the systematic hunts for witches and wizards (called warlocks at the time) throughout the centuries that decimated the magical population. It led to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. It helped stabilize the population. He knew a fraction over a million magical persons, excluding the magical races, lived within the British and Irish Isles. 

“Maybe we do need the secrecy laws,” Dennis muttered to himself as he contemplated the numbers. “Maybe, but what about these fifty-four people.” 

He looked at the list. Thomas’ name got counted among them, and it labeled him as the Earl of Nottingham. Thus, fifty-three people remained. One of them must be the murderer, the young wizard thought to himself. Regardless that his eyes felt burned out of his head after four hours of non-stop research in the dark halls of the library annex, Dennis thought of more information searches he needed to do in order to confirm suspicions, as suggested by Professor Flitwick. He levitated the book to its spot on the shelf. Then removed the previous year’s edition. 

After compiling a list from 1760 and one from 1762, Dennis used them to sort his 1761 list into two columns: people who lived in Nottingham and people who did not. Forty-seven of the original group seemed to be residents of the town since they appeared on all three lists. Of the remaining seven, four never visited Nottingham either before or after their 1761 appearance. Dennis knew he could further winnow the group if he used the staggeringly broad data collected in the Census Veneficus. He would save that for another day if Thomas could not identify his murderer in one way or another. The young wizard set about putting away the books, stored his now precious lists of suspects, picked up the lifeless Shooting Star, and headed for the stairs after using the revelio spell. 

Food became the first priority, so Dennis decided to head home. He also wanted to review all the information he collected in order to form a coherent story he could present to Lord North. The jumps from apparating stations to his house took him less than a quarter of a minute. His mother started when he popped into the living the room. She sat on the couch reading a couple of new magazines. 

“You look gray,” his mother said and started to set aside the reading material. 

“You’d be gray, too, if you spent five hours in the Ministry of Magic Library Annex Catacombs in York. Seven levels below ground each the size of stadium field, and no bloody decent lighting. What’s the point in that? It’s a library,” Dennis grumbled more from hunger than form any actual dissatisfaction. The biscuits he ate with tea in Professor Flitwick’s rooms long since stopped sustaining him. “Gonna make a sandwich, Mum.” 

“Dinner’s at six-thirty,” she reminded him as she following him to the kitchen. 

Dennis set his backpack at the door entrance and went to work crafting an enormous ham, cheese, and tomato sandwich. His mother complained he would ruin his appetite for supper, and he could smell some aromas coming out of the oven. While he prepared his meal, he told his mother about his talks with Thomas and Professor Flitwick. She stayed uncharacteristically quiet while he describe the library and the books he searched, and she also poured him a glass of cold tea. His small story led both of them to the dining table. They sat across from one another. 

“That’s some impressive investigating, Dennis,” his mother complimented him right when he took a big bite of his sandwich. “You know some clever folks.” 

Dennis chewed, swallowed, and said: “Cleverer than me. Thomas told me what to look for and Professor told me where to look.” 

“And?” His mother prodded. 

“And I’m thinking it’s a good bet we might’ve found the bastard who killed him.” 


	10. Chapter 10

Dennis arrived at the meeting site the next morning filled with nervous energy. Mr. Odpadki leaned against Kate waiting for him. The man scanned some sheets he clipped to the top of document holder. Dennis knew his employer sorted out their route for the day. They both dressed in the same style gray, stained overalls, and they looked very much like any other rubbish hauler.

“What’s on for today?” Dennis asked when he got close enough. 

“Olivander’s got a load of wood shavings and decommissioned wands he wants us to cart off and destroy,” Mr. Odpadki informed him. 

“Isn’t burning wands dangerous?” 

“Who said anything about burning?” 

“It’s wood,” Dennis half-stated and half-guessed. 

“Alright, you got me on that one, ya snot,” the burly man said with a chuckle. His forehead wrinkled in mirth and pale sunlight glinted off his mostly bald head. 

Dennis smirked at being called a snot, one of Peeves’ favorite insults. Mr. Odpadki stowed his clipboard under his arm and began walking around the front of the lorry. Dennis climbed into the passenger side. 

“Got a special furnace back at the house for this, and a Ministry clerk’ll be meeting us later to monitor the burning once I send word,” said the man while turning over Kate’s engine. She came to life with a throaty growl that almost sounded like a real animal. He patted the dashboard and smiled. 

“Why a Ministry clerk?” Dennis inquired. 

“Can’t have magical wood and old wands going missing now, can we? Whoever they send will account for the weight in shavings and scrap, and check the manifest to make sure all decommissioned wands are there,” Mr. Odpadki explained. “A person could make a lot of mischief with this stuff. Imagine what the Veloweisses would do with it?” 

An involuntary shudder when through Dennis. Since they disposed of the family’s unidentified flying object, reports of more sightings trickled through the news media. Several unnamed RAF pilots talked about incredibly fast, supersonic small objects they could not catch and that went into space. Mr. Odpadki said they would never speak again about what they did with the compacted trash heap, and that he would never again let a customer watch special disposal efforts. It seemed to Dennis the kelpie already jumped the berm for the ocean, but he said nothing. 

Dennis got a lesson in wand production. While Olivander might sell the wands in Diagon Alley and a few other select places, he crafted the magical items in a separate location. The production facility, a squat barn next to a sumptuous-looking house, existed in heavily fortified location. The number of spells and wards Dennis felt himself pass through once they got permission to enter left him feeling like his first disapparting experience. He heard about the defenses used at Hogwarts during the battle, and he wondered why they never contacted the Olivanders to really protect the castle. While Mr. Olivander, himself, got kidnapped by Voldemort and subsequently freed by Harry Potter, it seemed neither Voldemort nor his forces ever breached the Olivander compound. 

When they passed through the final barrier, a wiry, almost stringy, middle-aged man pointed to the barn. Mr. Odpadki seemed to know where to go. When the turned toward the rear of the barn, two young men waited for them. They clearly shared the same bloodline, and looked remarkably like their father. Dennis thought their father looked remarkably like Garrick Olivander, whom he met once. He got distracted by his employer’s expert handling of the lorry as he maneuvered it around and backed it up to strange looking silo. He then shut down the motor. 

“Ganin, Gerold,” Mr. Odpadki called out as he exited Kate. 

The two young men approached, but they silently stared at Dennis when he came around from the other side. 

“This is Dennis Creevey, a new member of the crew for the past month and a half. One of brightest I’ve ever had working for me. Works only with the special jobs, he’s that good, and worth every knut I pay him… maybe even more,” Mr. Odpadki gave the introduction. 

Dennis gaped at the man. His shoulder almost got crushed when the man clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. 

“I mean every word of it, Denny,” he quietly said. 

“Gerold Olivander,” the youngest of the two men said and held out a hand. Dennis went to shake it, but the hand got pulled back. “Wand, please.” 

“It’s their way,” Dennis’ boss whispered. 

Dennis produced his beloved wand. He felt a strange form of threat and hesitated in relinquishing it. His eyes narrowed. 

“No harm will come to it, Dennis,” Gerold said. 

It took a force of will to hand over his wand. Gerold carefully took it. He ran his long fingers over it. Dennis’ nerves twanged, and he let out a small giggle of nervousness. 

“American red pine. Grandfather’s choice, and his work. Dragon heartstring. Eleven inches,” the young man said, and then place one hand on either end and flexed it a little. “Very sturdy, and yet… not springy, but… supple. Very attached to you, Dennis. It’s resisting me.” 

Dennis held out his hand. Gerold returned it to him, and then smiled. His entire demeanor changed in a heartbeat. His brother also seemed to relax. He recalled the oddness of Mr. Olivander when purchasing the wand. The elderly man did not seemed to want to sell it to him, yet Mr. Olivander said it appeared a pairing destined in the stars. The wand never failed Dennis if he carefully controlled his magic and preparations. He liked hearing his wand favored him. Most witches and wizards considered their wands a literal physical extension of themselves. Dennis easily fell into that category. 

“You’ve taken excellent care of your wand. A pleasure to meet you, Dennis,” Gerold said and extended his hand again. This time he did not retract it when Dennis reached for it. 

Firm yet pliable skin met his somewhat calloused palm. The grip did not lack in surety. They squeezed and shook once before releasing it. A second hand drifted toward him. Dennis took it. It felt nearly identical to Gerold’s. 

“Ganin Oliv… hmm, a charms person. No wonder the wand is so fond of you. Excellent pairing,” Ganin made an awkward introduction. 

“How did you know?” Dennis asked, impressed and slightly afraid of the exchange with the grandson’s of Garrick Olivander. 

“Family trait. Helps with the selling of wanders. Gerold is the natural wandmeister, like father and grandfather, but I got grandfather’s ability to read the magic of people. This is why I am the only one allowed to sell of the three of us,” the older of the two brothers explained. “Can I ask what it is you do with charms… other than this?” 

“I, ah, well… hard to explain, but… I investigate the pasts of ghosts,” Dennis replied and slightly reinvented himself. “Right now I’m working on who killed a noble two hundred and fifty years ago.” 

“Yes, yes. I can see where charms would come in handy there. Do you find it satisfying work?” 

By this point Gerold stood close to his brother. Their father walked up and halted a few feet away. Dennis felt like they interviewed him with greater intensity than Mr. Odpadki ever did. An interesting suspicion developed in his mind. 

“Yeah, I do. There’s some terrible suffering for some of the ghosts, and they want answers just like the living. Problem is once they’re dead, they can’t do a lot about it. Most of ‘em are stuck in one place. That’s where I come,” Dennis continued to flesh out the details of his avocation for the Olivanders. 

“You are kind, then. Red pine responds to kindness. It also means you are certain of your charms ability. Your wand would not suffer a careless hand,” Gerold quipped. 

“Got NEWTs in charms and transifigu… 

“Of course! That’s what was hiding behind you charms ability. I could feel it, but… very subtle, Dennis,” Ganin said in an appreciative tone. 

“Yes, Mr. Odpadki, he can help,” the father of the men said and stepped forward. 

Ganin and Gerold parted like sliding doors. The older man extended his hand. Dennis took it. Skin like finely tanned, thinly cut leather rubbed against his. The man squeezed, and a pronounced grip announced itself. Dennis returned the gesture. 

“Gared Olivander, son of Garrick Olivander,” he introduced himself. “I think my father would enjoy seeing one of his customers again. Pocket your wand and let’s see if he can remember.” 

Dennis got robbed of choice. The Olivanders herded him away from the lorry and barn. They led him to the rather fastidious and uniquely ornate two-story house. It boldly yet tastefully spoke of craftspeople. The details in the woodwork went several steps beyond amazing. Dennis made a guess that generations of Olivanders contributed to the decoration of the house. He could not begin to imagine the age of the domicile, although it currently wore a Victorian guise. The gang of Olivanders led him through a side entrance, into a large kitchen tiled in white and gleaming with chrome and nickel fixtures, and to a side hallway. The slightly labyrinthian hall terminated at a doorway that, when pushed open, revealed a wide study filled with equal parts bookshelves and windows. Rich wood furniture occupied all the right places. The very elderly Garrick Olivander sat in a wheeled high-back chair pushed up against a desk where the man sat examining a plethora of wood splinters under a large magnifying glass. He lifted his head. 

“Father, someone is here to see you,” Gared Olivander said and continued to push Dennis forward. 

“Ah, a Hogwarts student,” Mr. Olivander said. “And not long from those storied halls.” 

“No, sir, I…” 

“Tut, tut. Let father have a guess,” Gared interjected and silenced Dennis. 

Mr. Olivander, his faced lined with creases and wrinkles, solid white hair held in place by a short, embroidered fez of a deep brown color, gazed at Dennis with slightly rheumy eyes. He pulled a pair of glasses off his desk and donned them. Then he really scrutinized Dennis. The youngest of the assembled felt as he did seven years before. 

“Yes, yes. Dragon heartstring in red pine. Supple and sturdy. Eleven inches. Rather long for that variety, but made for tricky, picky magic. Like a needle weaving fine cloth together,” Mr. Olivander said. He held out his hand. “Very pleasant to see you again, Mister Creevey, and my condolences for the loss of your brother. Dogwood, unicorn hair, nine inches, and very whippy.” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Thank you, sir,” Dennis said as he stepped forward to except the handshake as emotions roiled him. He seldom thought about Colin’s wand, and it stayed hid in the bottom most drawer of his dresser buried under little worn clothing. Dennis never looked at it. 

The aged hand remained firm, and Mr. Olivander met him with a steady gaze. 

“Many of us suffered at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but none more cruelly than those who lost a loved one to him and his forces. It is for that reason you, and those who suffered as you did, must remain vigilant to ensure we never encounter another dark wizard of the same caliber.” 

Dennis nodded. They released their grasp. Mr. Olivander gazed at him for a few seconds. 

“May I?” He requested and held out his hand. 

Dennis produced his wand without pause. He carefully laid the length of wood in the hand that shaped it into a magical device. The thin, somewhat gnarled fingers, closed around it. 

“Pinus resinosa, Mister Creevey. It grows straight and tall along the east coast of North America. Many of the Algonquin people venerate the red pine, and their shamans use it craft mighty spears, arrows, and extraordinary staffs for their shaman and medicine people. It is said the Broken Nose mask that emerges from one of the trees is gifted with a great spirit,” Mr. Olivander said as if talking to the wand and reciting history for it. “The range of mountains on which grows once lived as an ancient, primordial sea. This is very potent wood when matched with the right core. This dragon heartstring came from a very old, very wise… even gentle antipodean opaleye that allowed us to harvest it upon her death. She died quietly, peacefully, just as she lived. It seems the magic you ask it to perform is equally as peaceful.” 

“Wow,” Dennis breathed the word. 

“Do you know why I tell you these things, Mister Creevey?” The old wandmaker inquired. 

“No, sir.” 

“It is to show you that no matter how well you may know a thing, you can never truly know it. There is always more hidden in the depths,” Garrick Olivander said in his scratchy, thick voice. “I didn’t know this wand would land in your hands when I crafted it. I could never guess the unique and delicate magic you would perform with it. And let me tell you, young man: even if you were to lose it in a duel for some ridiculous, shortsighted reason, I do not think it would switch allegiance. Keep it close to you, young man, for it will never fail you.” 

“Thank you, Mister Olivander,” Dennis said in an awed voice when the man returned it to him. 

“Mister Creevey, we only allow people on this property who who deeply care for, respect, and form a true bond with their wand. It is strikingly clear to me you love your wand. It is imbued with your essence already. And for that reason I believe you will treat what we do here with the utmost respect.” 

“I will, sir, and… so you know, and maybe you already do, but from the first second I ever held my wand, I loved it,” he stated as he gazed as his precious implement. Dennis squeezed it in his hand. “I’d rather die than lose my wand, Mr. Olivander.” 

Dennis would swear forevermore he felt his wand vibrate as he spoke those words. Mr. Olivander smiled and nodded his aged head. 

“You are welcomed here, Dennis, and thank you for the service you’ll help perform,” the man said in a pleasant manner. 

Dennis nodded. Then, with even less ceremony, he got ushered away from the famed wandmaker. The Olivanders chatted among themselves about the task at hand. Mr. Odpadki joined into their discussion. Dennis walked along and stared at his beautiful wand. The eldest Mr. Olivander made it more treasured by sharing the some of the history of the wood and core. He privately wished every witch or wizard could receive such a lesson. The second trip through the elegant house became just as confusing as the first. 

“Alright, gentlemen, we shall begin shortly,” the son of Garrick Olivander told them. “Ganin, this is what I want you to do…” 

Dennis followed Mr. Odpadki back to the lorry as the two youngest Olivanders received instruction. 

“Lad, don’t know how you do it, but you struck the right chord with them,” his employee muttered. “Knew you would, too. I’ve seen the way you look at your wand and look after it. Been a while since they approved another worker to assist me.” 

“I’m honored to be here. I’ll never forget the day I got my wand,” Dennis rejoined in a soft voice. 

“Aye, here’s to that,” Mr. Odpadki said and dipped his head. “Got my second wand from the man after a stray leshy turned up in Epping Forest and smashed my first one to bits. Wasn’t maybe a year older than you. Olivander asked me about my first wand, a Ukrainian number… oak and harpy feather. Hard to control. Olivander lectured me for three hours about wands and wand care. Then he started testing wands on me. Finally ended up with Pudge here: chestnut and dragon heartstring. I know what you mean ‘bout loving it on first touch. Must’ve been my fourth, fifth wand he tried with me. Landed in me hand and I knew right then I didn’t want any other wand. It was like I knew Pudge all my life. Strange that, huh?” 

“No,” his employee countered. “As soon as this beaut touched my had, I’d fight anyone who tried to take it from me. Olivander knows, Mister Odpadki, and it looks like his grandson Ganin can do the same.” 

“They do. Brought all my kids to Olivander’s for their wands. Took my last polished knut, but worth in my book.” 

Dennis would never debate the last sentence. He bobbed his head as thought it over. 

“Now, lad, what says you about moving a small mountain of wood shavings and de-cored wands?” Mr. Odpadki inquired. 

“I’d use wingardium leviosa. Keep it simple. Keep it direct. Don’t get fancy. Move it with care, maybe in small clumps, and don’t add anything else,” Dennis offered his opinion. 

“Nine out of ten would suggest something more aggressive, faster. However, I happen to agree with you. The less magic the better with loads like this. That was going to be my call as well. You’re a quick thinker, and I like that. Alright, let’s get to it,” the man said in a wholly complimentary fashion that made Dennis’ cheeks turn pink. 

It both did and did not surprise Dennis when Ganin and Gerold joined them in transferring the scrap to the back of Mr. Odpadki’s lorry. The spell got murmured almost like a song in rounds as they each took turns. Dennis made certain he concentrated and used precise wand movements as though his friend and mentor stood nearby evaluating him. With four people at work, the main job came to swift completion. The final step came when Mr. Olivander’s son brought out an iron box as long as a forearm and half as high. Dennis easily guessed it contained the old wands. He could not imagine himself consigning his wand to the box. 

The three Olivanders walked up to the rear of the lorry as Mr. Odpadki placed the iron box in the rear, and then closed and locked the bin. 

“Find work there, gentlemen. Respectful, as we expected,” Gared Olivander said and extended a hand to Mr, Odpadki, who accepted it with grace. The shook once. “I will notify the Ministry your on your way back. A clerk will meet you.” 

“Easy-peasy, Gared. All the inspectors know where I live,” the expert waste handler replied. “You want an ash sample?” 

“If you’d be so kind, Mariusz. We’ll send Esme over to retrieve it,” Gared said. Then he turned to Dennis, and offered him a hand which Dennis grasped. “Thank you for being so kind with my father. He does enjoy seeing old customers from time to time, especially one who understands something of what he endured.” 

“I wasn’t at Hogwarts during the battle. My brother asked me to stay with our parents to protect them, but I’ve always appreciated what your father made and what he did for the cause, Mister Olivander,” Dennis said, and then they released the shake. 

“They tortured him, Dennis. He… needed to retire after that ordeal. My father meant what he said to you about losing your brother. He feels others gave far more than he did.” 

“They didn’t give: Voldemort took. He took Colin… he took a lot of people? And for what? What did Voldemort really gain for all the death he caused? Only his own death. The thing Harry said he hated most.” 

“Ah, so you know Potter. You went to school with him?” Gared Olivander asked. His sons stepped closer. 

“Yeah. As nice guy as any. Hates being the Boy-Who-Lived. The funny part is I think he would’ve done it all anyway… facing Voldemort. It’s just who he is. Not keen on rules, but definitely hates a bully,” Dennis stated and tried to be honest with his estimation. “People confuse who he is with what he did. It’s not the same, you know?” 

“Indeed. Very interesting words, Mister Creevey. Very interesting.” 

With that final farewells got made as Dennis and Mr. Odpadki climbed aboard Kate. The lorry slowly departed from the Olivander homestead and workshop. Dennis felt as thought he got a special treat for the day. Yet a question remained. 

“Mister Odpadki, why don’t they just incinerate this stuff themselves?” Dennis asked. 

“Did you get a good look at the workshop? It’s less than twelve years old. The one before that burned to the ground. They lost all their materials, tools, and stock. From what I heard, it cost them over half a million galleons to replace everything. They don’t want that to happen again, so now they call me,” he answered as they passed through the protective spells and wards. 

By the middle of the hot July afternoon, Mr. Odpadki released Dennis for the day. The man stood guard over the last of the controlled burn of the wood in the specially created incinerator. Dennis saw it in the past, but never in operation. The Ministry clerk closely observed everything. The wands would be burned separately after the wood scrap. After a brief greeting with Mrs. Odpadki, Dennis took his leave. He apparated to the Ministry, jumped to Nottingham and lastly to Hogwarts. In one hand he carried a role of pages containing a summary of the information he gathered the day before. The front gates of the surround wall opened for him as a recognized visitor. Dennis strolled up the entrance and toward the spot where Thomas habitually stood. 

“Dennis!” Thomas greeted him in a very friendly manner. “How fare you this day?” 

“Good, and you? And Lucia?” He rejoined. 

The earl’s daughter smiled at him. 

“Each day with her is a joy, my friend,” the man told him. 

“Verily,” Lucia said and gazed at her father. 

“Then I might have even better news,” Dennis stated and held aloft the small sheave of paper. “Between what you told me the other day and something I learned from Professor Flitwick right after, I discovered a lot of information, but I need to explain how I think we should to go through this.” 

Dennis then took several minutes and a roundabout way of telling the ghosts they needed to listen to the names he would recite. Thomas’ reaction, he speculated, would tell them if they hit upon the right name. Thomas and Lucia agreed to the plan. Dennis wished the ghosts would retreat to the interior of the castle since the day gradually began to bake him. However, an intractable state of affairs existed between The Bloody Barron and the late Earl of Nottingham. 

“Okay, the top four first. Let’s start with Bayard van Hussel.” Dennis carefully said the name. 

“I made his acquaintance once in the summer of 1761, but I never by chance saw Bayard thereafter once he came to understand my status as a wizard. I did hear word he performed some odd work until the winter cold settled, and thereby he set out for warmer climes,” Thomas told him. 

“And I’ll cross that one off,” and the living mage did. “Lothar Payne?” 

“No, I know of no Lothar Payne. Lucia?” The elder North stated. 

“I know nothing of that name, Dennis,” she answered. 

Dennis drew a line through the name, and said: “Wyllodrus Finch.” 

“I am sorry…” Thomas began. 

“Yes, I heard that name, but not when father… died,” Lucia interrupted. “He became a field hand for the Hickings the summer afterward. I heard Uncle Richard talking about him. Uncle said the hiring and presence of Mister Finch lacked decency and probity under the circumstances, but I never learned as the circumstances he mentioned.” 

“I do not recall ever being introduced to a Wyllodrus Finch, yet… mayhap it is but a coincidence. The surname cannot be that uncommon,” Thomas intoned in a distracted manner. 

“What coincidence is that?” Dennis asked. 

“Prior to the time of the Lord Protector, the previous Earldom of Nottingham was held by the Finch family, yet they were thoroughly deposed by the Roundheads as staunch supporters of Charles the First. More to the point, the Finches were never considered for the seventh creation, and it was my grandfather who took up the title for services to the crown and as distant relation to Charles the Second,” the late Earl of Nottingham explained. 

“So, that’d make you the… um, third Earl of Nottingham in your family?” The mortal among the three inquired. 

“Technically I was the ninth earl.” 

“Looks like I’m heading back to the libraries,” Dennis all but quailed. 

“Dennis, let’s review the remaining names you unearthed. I find your method of deducing the suspects quite sound, and I would not wish to pass over any possibilities on a mere coincidence,” Thomas requested. 

It took five minutes, including a small discussion, to eliminate the remaining names. While Thomas new a few of the people mentioned, most he did not recognize. They then returned to the question of Wyllodrus Finch. 

“And you’re sure you never heard of the man, Thomas?” Dennis asked for confirmation. 

“On my word, Dennis, I would remember such a name as Wyllodrus. That is not to say, of course, he did not get presented to me under disguise. Were a portrait available I could review, then I would be better able to say.” 

“I heard getting a portrait painted was expensive. I saw your official portrait at Nottingham Council House. It’s a really good likeness of you.” 

“Joseph Wright executed that painting, and I paid handsomely for it since Joseph favored landscapes. He came to Nottingham to paint the Labyrinth, but the coin I offered swayed him. He spent the spring of sixty completing it. I was pleased with his effort,” the ghost stated. 

“It hung in mother’s suite until she passed. Then it rested in the portrait hall until Uncle Richard passed. I do not know what became of it when the Hickings got granted the title and took residence in Wollacott. By then I lived permanently on Geoffrey’s estates,” Lucia recounted in a trembling voice, as the memories clearly upset her. 

“There, my child, be at peace. Those days a long behind us,” her father said, took her hand, and gently patted it. 

Dennis let them have a moment of silence, and then said: “I also wanted to tell you about something I found in the Decennial Magus Annales.” 

The North’s glanced at him. 

“The Wizengamot knew you got murdered by another wizard… or witch. They didn’t know who did it, but they were certain you got murdered,” Dennis solemnly revealed. “Before you were buried, they hired… I think it was a hiring, but they hired Leviculus Everill to examine you. He used a confudus charm on your brother to get access to your body. Leviculus cited something called the opprimo curse as the cause of death…” 

Dennis halted. Thomas went as still as a statue. Fear got etched into his features. It appeared certain hearing the name of the killing curse triggered the binding one. The younger wizard felt a deep sense of sorrow for the man. 

“Did all your tenants pay on time?” He asked his spectral friend. 

“No,” Thomas heaved and sank to knees. 

“Father!” Lucia cried and stooped down to comfort him. 

Dennis also walked closer, but did not wish to intrude. Thomas, although he needlessly breathed again, still appeared to be in the throes of terror. His wide eyes stared at nothing, save perhaps across the fields of time to the day of his demise. The Earl of Nottingham trembled as his daughter sought to lend succor. 

“All the air got squeezed from me as though a great stone were placed on my chest,” Thomas flatly spoke the words. “I could make no sounds. I could not yell or scream as I felt the life fleeing my body. It seemed an age before I knew I died… and the pain. It was meant to be cruel, and this man succeeded in making my death as miserable as he could in what time got afforded to him.” 

Dennis memorized the details. 

“Father!” Lucia sobbed. 

“No, sweet child, no. Be calm. I died only but once,” the father then tried to comfort the daughter. “For so long I could see that face… hear those words, but…” 

Thomas looked up at Dennis. He smiled. It shook Dennis. 

“You are a wonder, Mister Creevey, and I am indebted to you beyond any poor compensation I could offer,” the ghost told him while gaining his feet and then assisting Lucia. “At long last to be able to speak of that terrible moment is a relief to me like few I have known, save for the day when dear Lucia arrived at this spot.” 

“Thomas, you don’t…” Dennis began to say. 

“But I do, Dennis, and I am shamed to think of all those days I saw you in your misery and spared not a single moment of real comfort toward you, consumed as I was with my own misfortune. I am a poor excuse for a friend…” 

“No, you’re not, and shut up!” Dennis nearly yelled. 

Thomas Lester Jonathan North, Earl of Nottingham, looked affronted. It seemed no one ever spoke to him in such a manner. Lucia also bridled at the tone. 

“Thomas… since I started helping you with this, my life has changed so much. It’s so much better now,” Dennis continued without a single hint of apology. “I’ve been places, done things, I never would’ve on my own. I met Cameron looking for answers to your murder. Don’t think for one second you’ve gotten all the benefit out of this because I’m a lot further ahead than you are right now. What I… endured here at Hogwarts can’t even begin to compare to what you suffered. So, shut it, Thomas.” 

“You are magnanimous, Dennis,” Thomas said and inclined. 

“Put a sock in it,” the young man huffed. Then inhaled and exhaled once, and fixed his gaze on the ghost. “So, that was the spell that did you in?” 

“Indeed, it was,” the Earl rejoined and looked a bit flustered. “Opprimo anima.” 

“Now, if I can figure out how he… and it is a he?” 

“It is.” 

“How he silenced you and sent you here, then you’ll be entirely free of the curse. After that you can go on and get all mushy about whatever service you think I’ve done for you,” Dennis grumbled. 

“May I at least say thank you?” Thomas requested. 

“Yeah, and you’re welcome.” 

“What shall be your next actions, Dennis?” Lucia inquired. 

“I need to find our more about this Wyllodrus Finch. I really do think he’s the one that did all this. If he’s related to the earls before you, there’s got to be a record of him somewhere. Then I’ll need to see if I can find a picture of him. I also need to research spells. Maybe I can find one to reverse the silencing spell,” Dennis thought aloud. 

“Mister Creevey, did you know about this death curse that got used on my father?” The woman questioned him. 

“Never heard of that one. I’ve never even seen it mentioned in any of the Unforgivable Curse lists. Seems like avada kedavra took over.” 

“That is a heinous spell and truly unforgivable… and I think perhaps it explains why my murderer chose opprimo anima,” Thomas opined. “The use of The Killing Curse would announce a murderer to other witches and wizards, and the caster of the curse would be hunted.” 

“Someone really thought about killing you, Thomas,” Dennis said with open disquiet. 

“So it would seem.” 

“But why, Father? What did you ever do to deserve this fate?” 

“That is part of the mystery, Lucia,” he responded to her. 

“And we’ll probably never figure out it even if we can’t find the person who did it,” Dennis felt the need to add. He wanted to keep expectations as low as possible. 

One small mystery, however, he did think he could solve. Dennis went to the castle after he and the spirits of the Norths discussed some minor details. The young man went to find a few specific paintings of some old friends, and the term old served double-duty. He went to the second floor on which several classes got taught. On the walls hung the portraits of numerous deceased teachers. He went to end of the corridor where a new window gave a view of the north woods. 

“Professor Artura?” Dennis quietly said to the witch sleeping in the painting. “Professor Artura?” 

The witch jerked awake and glanced around with a nasty sneer on her face. Her chalk gray hair floated wildly about her head from under her cap. She softened a bit when she saw Dennis staring at her. Then her eyes narrowed. 

“What say thee, young Creevey?” She asked in her familiar suspicious tone. “A small aged passed since thee last came for my counsel.” 

“I graduated, Professor Artura,” he explained. “But I came to say hello.” 

“Pah! Thou yet again seeks to prize knowledge from me,” she complained. 

“Maybe a little. What do you know about opprimo anima?” 

The witch, dressed in shades of ruby and gray, sat up and stared at him. The silence lingered. Dennis feared he asked the wrong question of the old Defense Against Dark Arts instructor from the late sixteenth century. 

“A benighted spell, Creevey, and any who utter it are damned souls,” she said to him, her voice squeaking disdain. “Whyfore dost thou speak of such things and importune me with its memory?” 

“One of the castle ghosts got killed by it in his day. I don’t know anything about it, and I don’t have to time to get permission to go into the restricted section of the library,” he told her. “And I’m not trying to learn it. I’m trying to learn about it if that makes any difference to you.” 

“It is an ancient curse. Once favored by the Romans to dispatch and execute those who they deemed criminals, it fell into disrepute from the frightful and abominable nature of its effect. ‘Twas more a torture than a death. The life crushing spell did it come to be called by many. It is an awful thing to even whisper that curse.” 

“It was used on noble.” 

“Count it an assassination then. Few outside highborn or pure-blood lines would claim knowledge of it. Long ‘ere the days of my youth a damned spell it got named. Think no more on’t, Creevey, if thou does not seek means to bring it to bear. And be warned: should word reach my ear it again stains the land, on thy head I will lay blame and bring down upon it what castigation I may foment,” Professor Artura told and warned him. 

“Thank you, professor, and I have no intention of learning it or wielding. You answered my questions, and I am grateful to you,” he said in a contrite manner. 

“Stay thee from dissembling before me, boy! Thou art a quick and wily wizard, and there is purpose to your inquest!” 

“I’m trying to help Silent Thom. He’s the one who got killed with it. I just read about it the other day in the Decennial Magus Annales.” 

“Dread the day when thee disabused thyself of thy ignorance on this matter. Such knowledge is best left forgotten,” she chastised him, and her hazel eyes appeared like storm clouds. 

“I won’t argue with you about that. Wish I didn’t know it existed. Why do witches and wizards invent spells like that?” He rhetorically inquired. 

“Tis the nature of the beast, Creevey. Mankind too frequently gives itself over to craven and wanton desires, dastardly even. Thou art witness to the ill-natured aspects and did have them plied against thee. How harried wouldst thou needs be to fully understand? Thy question is infantile and fit only for a simpleton… and thou art no imbecile!” The long-deceased witch upbraided him. 

Dennis chuckled and said: “Still willing to tear strips out of me, huh, professor?” 

“When thou plays the fool, thee assuredly begs for it. I pray give me guarantee I wasted not my days in instruction with thee. ‘Twas thy mind I sought to improve. Do not give me cause to think it an impossible task,” the old woman railed against him. 

“I leave smarter then when I came to you,” he replied. 

“Thou wouldst make a child’s plaything of me! Away with thee, Creevey, and leave me to my slumber!” 

The ritual reached completion. Professor Artura despised it when he tried to thank her for teaching him. The woman assumed, even in portrait form, that people naturally wanted to learn. Dennis learned a goodly number of defensive spells from the woman while she hinted at the dark forces at work during her days. It sounded very perilous to him even in comparison to Voldemort’s rampage. The world seemed a dangerous place for witches and wizards before modern times, and even then he still did not feel entire certain they could live in peace with muggles. It gave him much to think about as he wandered down the hall toward the main stairwell. 

“What do you hope to gain from that crone, Snot?” A voice whispered in his ear and made Dennis jump. 

Peeves came into view and cackled with delight. 

“She taught me a lot,” I snapped back at him. “What are you doing up here?” 

“Getting a lay of the land, Weavy Creevey. Still, you did not answer me about the crone.” 

“Had a question about opprimo anima…” 

The poltergeist halted and seemed horrified. 

“I’m not learning the spell,” Dennis again defended himself against the accusation, albeit it came in a silent reaction. 

“Only a jackenape would seek such a spell! Thou makes sport with vile temptations, Creevey Snot!” Peeves lambasted him. 

“I’m not learning it! Are you even listening to me?” The living person yelled. “It’s what killed Silent Thom!” 

“Then he was a detested man if one sought to end his life with that curse. I will take my death before his!” 

“It’s really that bad?” 

The stopped in hallway. Peeves did not look the least amused. His eyes became black orbs in his face, a sign of his anger. An angry Peeves turned into a force to be avoided. 

“People who drown experience less fear and pain. It takes the breath from a person, as though being pressed by large weights. Unable to draw breath, they gasp for air in wild panic. It is beyond hideous, Creevey! If Thom did perish under that curse, then hatred in full measure did his killer keep for him,” Peeves murmured in low tones. 

“And we’re trying to name his killer. I think we’re close, Peeves. We’ve nearly totally broken his silence curse,” Dennis told his ghostly friend. “The look on his face when I said the name of the spell… I won’t ever forget that.” 

“Then you have some notion of it’s affliction. I would count it as evil as avada kedavra, if not more so. The Killing Curse kills and does so in an instant. If thee values any of which I’ve told you in the past, then know whoever unleashes the life crusher did sacrifice all that can be called human.” 

Dennis’ eyes went wide to hear Peeves make such a pronouncement. 

“Mark me, Dennis Creevey, banish from thy mind all knowledge of this spell once you have secured Thom’s freedom. Do this. For if thou ever seeks to use it, know that I am your enemy and will forswear any affection that once bound us in league. I will hold it a cursed day when I first kept company with thee,” the poltergeist said in such a serious and staid tone it frightened the mortal to the core. 

“I swear I will, Peeves. I’ll have Professor Flitwick obliviate it from my mind,” Dennis vowed. 

Peeves placed a single finger on the right side of his nose. He black eyes locked with Dennis gray irises. The poltergeist nodded once. Then he vanished. A cold settled into Dennis’ gut. Not since the day he learned of his brother’s death did he feel as though he gained tragic and unwanted knowledge. Between Professor Artura, Thomas North, and Peeves, the young man of a wizard received a dire warning. He walked alone and lonely down the hall as the thought of discovering so evil a curse it would turn friends against him. Dennis felt chilled and longed for the sun. 

For an hour Dennis lay on the quidditch pitch and let the hot July sun warm him. His friends imparted an important lesson. Dennis knew the end of Voldemort did not signal the end of evil. Knowledge, he understood better than ever, proved both a blessing and a curse. As a child, he once heard a program on the radio in his father’s delivery truck that people could not unlearn devastating information. However, that presenter apparently did not know about magic. Although admittedly dangerous and difficult to achieve specific results, Dennis would seek Professor Flitwick’s assistance with removing the knowledge of opprimo anima from his mind. He would also make certain to destroy any mention of it in his notes. Dennis prayed he could remand the curse to the obscurity it so richly deserved. 


	11. Chapter 11

Dennis dined with Cameron on Wednesday and Thursday evenings as he sought more information regarding the Hickings. Although they did not murder Thomas, it seemed odd they hired the person most likely to carry out the foul deed. Cameron asked for details, but Dennis begged him off from the request. To compensate, he allowed the sleekly dark and handsome young man to talk him into spending one night in Nottingham. The feel of a living, warm person pressed against his body acted as a restorative for what he learned. However, Dennis never told Cameron he got permission from Mr. Odpadki to remain in Nottingham so he could continue his research.

The new information Dennis learned needed corroboration, but it could come from only one source: the Finch family. His brain again rode to the rescue and reminded him he might already know a person related to the family. An owl flapped from Nottingham to the Springpool magical community just southwest of Newcastle-under-Lyme near Keele University. The owl locator directory did come in handy at times. Unfortunately, the return owl nearly revealed Dennis’ wizarding identity to Cameron when it showed up at Cameron’s flat. It took Dennis half an hour to retrieve the response, send the owl to his mother with note telling her to give it two hot dogs, and read the message. The message seemed weirdly formal. 

_“Dear Dennis Creevey,_

_Very splendid to hear from you, and I hope this finds you in good health. I would be delighted to meet with you regarding  
the history of my family. It is marvelous others take interest in the intersection between our world and royalty within the  
United Kingdom. Thus, I can only hope I may be of service. _

_As luck would have it, my agenda for this Saturday is delightfully empty of appointments. While I intended to play a match  
or two of tennis in the afternoon, I will make room to have tea with you. I can easily spare two hours. Shall we say two past  
midday? Do, please, send word if this appointment time is adequate. _

_Sincerely,_

_Justin Finch-Fletchley  
6 Arbor Court  
Springpool-on-Keele”_

Dennis did not get the chance to send a reply until the next morning before returning to London to meet Mr. Odpadki. As Cameron did not like to leave bed too early in the morning, he did not make the attempt to escort Dennis to the train station when the sun started to peak over the horizon. Sometimes the deceptions Dennis needed to carry out with Cameron weighed on him. As he went to the Nottingham aviary, his mind got preoccupied by many other considerations. His backpack thumped against him as he trotted through the streets of Nottingham trying to catch a bus. 

The previous evenings spent with Cameron spared Dennis from concocting fabrications as to why he needed the afternoon free. He simply told his boyfriend, and Dennis thought of him in those terms even though they never settled on the full status of their relationship, he would arrive sometime between five and six in the afternoon depending on the train he took. Cameron never questioned the explanation. Hence, Dennis used Saturday morning to prepare to interview Justin Finch-Fletchly armed with a significant amount of material. He parents saw him with his notes and never intruded on his research. 

At two o’clock in the afternoon, a better dressed Dennis passed through the cloaking spell that hid Springpool-on-Keele from the muggle world. Two cul-de-sacs formed the heart of the community. On one roundabout sat rows of townhouses. The did not look inexpensive in any degree. On the other cul-de-sac much larger single-unit dwellings stood. Dennis stood on the stoop of one of those, number six, after presenting his wand to the gate. It swung open for him. He pulled the small cord next to the door, and chimes sounded from within the house. Seconds later the door opened, and house elf looked up at him. 

“Mister Creevey?” The elf asked. 

“Um, yes. I am,” he replied. 

“Very good. Master Justin is awaiting you in the parlor,” the elf intoned in a very controlled Oxfordian English. “Please, wipe your shoes and follow me.” 

Dennis stepped inside a splendid home appointed in modern minimalist style. White, very pale beige, and cream created the color pallet. White marble floors with faint gray veining ran underfoot. He wiped his feet as directed and trotted after the elf. Like many house elves, it wore a what appeared to be a scrap pillow case. However, not a single blemish or stain could be seen. Furthermore, the sheen of the cloth indicated it might be silk. The elf’s bare feet made hardly a sound as it walked on the marble, unlike the Hogwarts’ house elves whose feet could be heard flapping everywhere. He got led to a sitting room. 

“Ah, Dennis, hello and welcome!” Justin said when the elf ushered him in. Justin stood from the tea table. He walked forward with his hand extended. 

Justin presented himself as a tall, rather affable-looking young man with dark hair parted on one side, keen brown eyes, and a rather noticeable underbite. He wore expensive muggle clothing of a casual variety: khaki pants, white Oxford shirt, and comfortable loafers. Dennis felt relieved he decided to dress up a little. With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he reached to accept the handshake. 

“Very good to see you. Good indeed,” Justin animatedly said while vigorously pumping the hand. 

“You’re looking well,” Dennis replied and tried to slow down the rate of the hand movement. 

Justin took the hint and released his hand. He then guided Dennis to the table that rested next to a window and offered a pleasant view of a tall hedge. They sat across from one another. 

“I must say I’m rather intrigued by the missive you sent the other day. Whatever caught your interest in my family?” His host asked without any other preamble. 

“Your ties to the Earl of Nottingham,” Dennis plainly answered. 

“Interesting indeed. We are fourth cousins to the current Earl, Daniel Finch-Hatton. As you can see, the Finch family got spread around a bit. All the to-do with Cromwell saw to that, and now the title is joined with the Earl of Winchilsea,” Justin explained, and then cast a furtive glance. “You don’t seem like you're interested in that side, Dennis.” 

“Not particularly,” he admitted. “But I’m glad you mentioned Cromwell.” 

Justin’s dark eyebrows moved upward. 

“This is a very complex story, but… would you happen to know the Finch family tree at that time?” 

“Of course. I can show you records, but… why the interest?” The young man inquired again. 

“Because I’ve become friends with the ninth Earl of Nottingham, and I’m trying to solve his murder.” 

Justin looked incredibly surprised. To mask it, he poured tea from the pot. Then he offered milk and sugar. Dennis took a single lump of sugar. While he stirred it into his tea, his host scanned his face. 

“How do you know the ninth earl?” Justin asked following the lengthy pause. 

“Because we both know him as Silent Thom… at Hogwarts,” Dennis stated. 

Justin’s mouth literally fell open. 

“I’m not pulling your leg, Justin. Thomas Lester Jonathan North, Ninth Earl of Nottingham is still with us, and he’s trapped at Hogwarts. He was murdered using a very nasty spell and cursed to remain silent about his murder, then sent to Hogwarts as an exile.” 

“When?” Justin asked. 

“Seventeen-sixty-one. September.” 

“But… the Finch family lost the title in the late fifteen hundreds…” 

“And wasn’t considered for the seventh creation in sixteen-eighty-five. That went to the North family, who already had a claim with the Earldom of Essex.” 

“You certainly seemed to know your way around the lower nobility,” Justin remarked and tried to sound light. 

Dennis took a sip of tea before saying: “Good tea. Thank you, and, no, I don’t know much of any lower royalty outside of Nottingham and the one in Essex.” 

“Yes, Larpin does brew a fine tea. Dennis, why do you think the Finch family is connected to the murder of Silent Thom?” The young man reasonable queried. 

“I supposed I’d better tell you the whole story and show the information I collected.” 

“I’d be grateful.” 

For half an hour Dennis provided the summary version, and Justin sat in open astonishment. The biscuits went uneaten, and they only sipped the tea. Laid end to end, the evidence looked very convincing if circumstantial. When he finished the summary, Dennis got to ask the most important question of the day. 

“So, as you can see, there are two crucial facts I need to find. First, did the Finch family produced any magical children while holding the Nottingham title? Second, is Wyllodrus part of that family branch?” He concluded. 

“Laprin! Attend, please!” Justin called out. 

Half a minute later the house elf came running into the parlor. 

“Master Justin?” The small elf, and Dennis realized it to be female despite looking and sounding male. 

“Larpin, could you go and fetch the family album? Please? The official one?” 

“Yes, Master Justin,” the elf said and bowed. 

“Justin, will this have any effect on your family?” Dennis asked since he just thought of it. 

“I don’t think so. It was over two hundred years ago, and the Finch line didn’t regain the title until the twentieth century, so one couldn’t begin to presume my distant family murdered its way into the earldom,” he answered. “And the Finch-Fletchleys are too far removed from any title inheritance to be effected. Dozens of murders would have to take place, and I hardly think that would go unnoticed for any length of time.” 

Dennis smirked at Justin’s cavalier attitude toward the situation. However, Justin also stated his family’s case rather succinctly and dispatched any reasonable suspicion. Several seconds later a slightly winded Larpin the house elf returned carrying an old and very thick book. Dennis recalled seeing a very similar tome in Essex. She struggled to turn it over to Justin. Justin eyed Dennis. Once he got the hint, Dennis cleared off a good portion of the table. Justin laid the book on it. Both young men stood and moved to the same side. Justin opened the book. 

“Let’s see. The murder took place in seventeen-sixty-one, so the youngest the culprit could be would be… sixteen?” Justin said and glanced Dennis. 

“Older I would think. He used a complicated series of spells that would take time to master. I’d say he’d be in his late twenties or early thirties. Try seventeen-thirty or sometime before that,” Dennis calculated and suggested. 

“Good points all.” 

The book opened and pages got flipped back to the correct century. Each page contained a small tree blossoming with small caricatures and names under each, but also a table listing the chronological order of births and deaths. It seemed very well designed in Dennis’ opinion. 

“Spell the first name again?” 

Dennis did. 

“No, he’s not here. Let’s look further back,” Justin agreeably said. 

For five minutes they scanned pages and the attendant table. 

“Great Merlin! There he is. Seventeen-aught-nine. June eleventh. Almost a summer baby. Died… Seventeen-seventy-three in November. No day is listed,” the current master of the house stated in a bit of astonish. “And he was a wizard. See that symbol there?” 

“The small star with the little lines shooting out of it? Doesn’t conceal the fact very well,” Dennis commented. 

Justin turned to him with a puzzled expression and said: “Why would we need to conceal it? This line of the Finch family has always been magical.” 

“So, Wyllodrus is directly related to you?” 

“Only as a many great uncle,” Justin said as he continued to examine the table of information. “What do you think that small gray key means?” 

“Haven’t the foggiest, Justin. Is there a legend somewhere?” Dennis inquired. 

Dennis watched as Justin flipped through the pages looking for the legend to decipher the symbol. He found it on the fourth page from the front. He appeared shocked. 

“Wyllodrus was incarcerated!” The young man exclaimed about his relation as though it never once happened in his family. 

“Does it say where or when?” 

They flipped back to the record. Both studiously scanned it. Both came away disappointed. 

“Maybe I can confirm where he got sentenced in the Decennial Magus Annales,” Dennis muttered. 

“The ten-year annual of magical history? Wherever did you find that?” Justin inquired with piqued interest. 

Dennis gave him the short version of his research efforts. Justin closed the book, and they returned to tea and biscuits. He appeared engrossed by the subject. 

“If you ever go to the annex, bring your broom and a good torch. Lighting is terrible with all that black marble soaking it all up. Just about ruined my eyes,” Dennis added for good measure. 

“I must say, Dennis, I’m rather impressed by what you achieved in all this,” Justin said and bobbed his head. “Quite fascinating, all of it, but who doesn’t love a good murder mystery?” 

“I think you forget real people are connected to this. Look at what happened to Thomas and his daughter for two hundred and fifty years. This isn’t a Wipple and Derge story neatly wrapped up by page one hundred and sixty. This was their lives… and afterlife.” 

Justin nodded his head and said: “Yes, my apologies and I do take your point. Quite tragic when viewed from their perspective. All the more reason you should be proud of yourself. I’m sure you’ve brought a great comfort to Silent Thom and his daughter.” 

“Some, but not enough. I want to find a way to conclusively prove… hang on a minute,” Dennis began to say and interrupted himself. “You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of some sort of Wyllodrus Finch?” 

Justin flipped open the family genealogy tome, searched back through centuries, found the entry, pointed to it, and asked: “You mean like that?” 

“How acc…” 

“Very. There is a spell to capture the likeness of the person whenever they come within five kilometers of the book. All the magical volumes are interconnected, and we purposefully bring them all together once every twenty-five years. It’s like a computer update from what I’ve heard,” the young man interjected and explained. “I would say this is from his forties at the latest, and that means he avoided the family for the last third of his life. I’m beginning to think this Wyllodrus wasn’t well liked or received.” 

“Hmm,” Dennis said with a nod. He did not think it appropriate to comment one way or the other. “Can I copy this page? I’d like to show Thomas at least the picture and biographical information.” 

“Oh, please, you may,” Justin assented. “Dennis, if I may be so bold, but would you report back to me on what you discover? I’d like to add it to the family record. While it is all a touch sordid, we do like to keep the family history up to date.” 

“Justin, you’ve done me a huge favor, so I’d be a bit of a prat if it didn’t say yes. In fact, I’ll make copies of all of this, including my notes, and you can pick and choose what you want to include. 

“Grand, Dennis. Absolutely grand of you!” 

The two spent twenty-five minutes copying information back and forth. Dennis allowed Justin to copy most of the record he compiled if it pertained to Wyllodrus Finch. He explained he would need to get permission of Thomas North, the late Earl of Nottingham, to release other portions. Justin again proved agreeable. When they finished the exchange, they sat at the table. Dennis felt nervous about what he now possessed. 

“That’s all sorted,” Justin said as he refilled the cups with hot tea. “Now, do you have any news from Hogwarts you can share. It surprises me to say I miss the old place.” 

“Oh, yeah, I've got some news,” Dennis stated. 

The two sat and discussed the continuing repairs to the castle and grounds, the changes in faculty and staff, developments with students from both their years, and other bits of gossip they heard. Despite the fact Justin Finch-Fletchley carried himself with airs and sounded haughty, it quickly became transparent as they chatted. It seemed more of affectation, ruse, or show instead of a real personality trait. He seemed eager to hear about former schoolmates, and shared a large part of his recent history. Dennis remained a bit more circumspect, although he did divulge he worked in the highly specialized field of magical waste containment and removal. Justin did not seem to judge him, and he pressed Dennis for a few choice stories. He began by telling Justin about meeting the Olivanders. Justin acted the eager audience. 

Later that evening Dennis sat in a pub surrounded by Cameron’s friends. Try as he might to enjoy himself, the recent revelations about Thomas North, Wyllodrus Finch, and the real means used to terminate Thomas plagued his mind. Jeanie and Mike all but assaulted him for updates on his investigation. Dennis found it a relief to be able to share parts of the story. He inadvertently quoted Shakespeare by calling Thomas’ death a murder most foul. Thus, the friends of Cameron managed to pull him into the fold. In spite of himself, Dennis rather enjoyed the evening. 

“You seemed kind of down earlier, Love,” Cameron whispered to the back of Dennis’ head. 

Dennis spooned deeply against the young man whose increasing importance to him could not be denied. He hated it when they spent too much time apart. He hated not being able to share the most astounding aspects of his life. He hated that he got so deeply involved in an investigation it altered his mood even when around Cameron. Dennis simply wanted a quiet night with the ebony young man luxuriating in the silent but strong emotions they shared. 

“I don’t understand people who want to do nothing but spread misery and fear wherever they go,” the young wizard sighed and exposed part of what he thought. “The man who killed the Earl of Nottingham did it in way that caused him an incredible amount of pain and fear. Why? How does that even remotely make his life better? How can anyone be proud of that?” 

“Awful?” 

“Slow suffocation.” 

“Bloody hell,” Cameron mumbled in shock. “Denny, how come the records don’t show that at the Archives?” 

“Don’t know. Found the official report in an old library over in York. Had to piece it together. I think they didn’t want to scare the nobles with the idea some blighter is running around snuffing them,” Dennis concocted a plausible explanation. 

“Ever think about becoming a constable? You could work your way up to detective. You seem to have a decent hand at this?” The man at his back, lovingly holding him, suggested. 

“I’d be a shite constable, Cam. First time I nicked a criminal they’d just have to say ‘I forgot it was against the law to beat and rob people, but now I know better and I swear I won’t ever do it again,’ and I’d probably let ‘em off the bloody hook.” 

Cameron snickered at his answer. Dennis pulled the arm tighter around his chest. He felt knowing about the opprimo anima curse put him in jeopardy. He planned on asking Professor Flitwick to remove the memory of it from his head as soon as he could. However, Dennis knew full well his friend and mentor might reject the idea. Dennis could scarcely accept the fact witches and wizards actively sought spells of that type. It sickened him. 

“Denny? You’ve gone stiff as a length of pipe. Are you feeling okay?” Cameron inquired. 

“Is the world safe, Cam? Remember those blokes who tried to charge us a toll for walking down the street?” Dennis replied with a question. 

“And you gave them a right good thumping. They deserved it, Denny, so don’t get down on yourself thinking you did something wrong!” 

“No, it’s not that. I just can’t figure out why they wanted to muck about with us in the first place? And it wasn’t just about the money. They knew we was gay, Cam, and that was part of it. They thought we were weak,” he asked and almost answered his own questions. 

“Are you scared now being on the streets at night?” The gentle young man asked. 

“No. I can handle myself. I think I’m just angry,” he rejoined. “I’m angry ‘cause they think they have a right to do that when they don’t. I’m angry it’s such a waste of time and energy. I’m angry ‘cause it scares others. It doesn’t do anything for life. So, what's the point of it?” 

“The point is it tells me I’ve got a fine and good man who cares about people, really cares, and thinks about things, and really thinks. It makes me happy to know someone like that exists in my world, and I found him. Even if that’s all it will ever mean, I can more than live with that, Denny.” 

The words soothed Dennis on a very deep and personal level. He bowed his head down and kissed Cameron’s arm. Cameron squeezed him, and the world felt a little safer if even for just a fleeting moment. 

“I’m too young to say this… and it’s too soon to say this, but I’m pretty much in love with you, Cam,” Dennis said. It brought him both apprehension and comfort to say it. 

“I know you are, Denny. Don’t you know I feel the same way?” Cameron murmured. “From the first night I met you I kept wanting you to love me. Never known a bloke like you. I know you’ve been through a lot, but… it made you better. You’re older inside than almost everyone I know. The way you look at the world amazes me. It’s like you see it inside out. I’ve needed someone like you in my life for a long time. Needed, Denny; not wanted.” 

“You’re my first real boyfriend. That scares me. I don’t know what to do… or how to behave. That’s why I say I’m too young.” 

“Maybe you are too young, but you’ve done everything right by me so far. I’ve heard people say someone young has an old soul, and I’d say ‘What are you facking talking about?’ But I get it now. I just never met one ‘til you.” 

“You’re trying to get me to sleep with you, aren’t you?” Denny replied and giggled a little, but not entirely from mirth. His nerves felt strung tight due to the topic. He forced Cameron and himself into new territory without really thinking it over. 

“What? The whole ‘Let’s get naked and crawl into bed’ didn’t give you a clue?” Cameron played along. 

“I was suspicious, but now I think you’re up to something with what you got pressed against me bum.” 

Cameron chuckled and wiggled his body around. Dennis spun around in the embrace of the man. They faced one another in the dimly lit room. Cameron kissed him. Dennis wanted it to last for an hour, but pulled his head back. 

“Denny?” Asked the man Dennis felt transformed into his boyfriend. 

“Cam, before we get out of control like we’re going to, I want you to promise me one thing if you can,” he requested. 

“Sure, if I can.” 

“Promise me no matter what else we do… where this goes between us, we’re always going to try and be nice to each other first. And I’m not talking about just acting nice, but really meaning it. And if we can’t, then that’s when we’ll talk about what’s happening between us. That’s what I want you to promise me,” Dennis simply let the words roll out of his mouth. 

“That’s a pretty good promise to ask for. No one ever asked me for one like that. I like it, so, yes, I promise, Dennis Creevey, that I will always try to be nice to you before anything else. I will mean it. If I don’t, then I know we need to talk about us,” Cameron solemnly stated. 

“And I promise to be nice to you, Cameron Vall, to be your friend, and to try every time we’re together. I promise that if I can’t do it, then we will talk together and find out why. I mean every word of that, Cam." 

"I know you do, Love." 

As per their want, they kissed. The kiss turned feral. The two young men frittered away the dark hours finding comfort in and with one another. Through it all, Dennis' brain kept pondering how he could reveal the truth about himself to the man he loved without creating an enormous breach of the secrecy statute. Once more he came to the conclusion he needed to speak with Hermione Granger. The smartest witch to emerge from Hogwarts must surely know an answer, Dennis thought before his mind got consume by the actions at hand. 

The next afternoon, Dennis sat staring at the front section of the Sunday edition of The Guardian. Only half of what he read made sense to him. He got an inkling his transformation into a proper wizard neared completion. However, Dennis forced himself to read the broadsheet. More often than not, events in either side of the life he led would influence the other. His copy of The Daily Prophet sat underneath. The latest outbreak of doxie fever in Scotland and Northern Ireland dominated the magical news. Dennis eventually simply gazed at the newspapers without actually reading them. 

"You alright, son?" His father asked from the doorway leading to their small patch of backyard where Dennis sequestered himself under the cloud-filled sky. 

"I'm doing okay, Dad," he quietly replied. 

Duncan Creevey sat down in the other injection-molded plastic chair. Dennis saw his father staring at him. He kept his eyes on The Guardian while his father queried: "Out with it, Denny. Something's gnawing at you." 

Dennis sighed and said: "I've got all these questions, Dad, and no one has answers. The more I try to find answer, I only get more questions. I'm learning things I wished I never knew to be honest." 

"You're dead Earl of Nottingham?" 

"It's not him in particular. It's what happened to him. I know who did it… I think. I know how he did it, and it’s ruddy awful. But I don't know why." 

"Welcome to the human race, son. We don't always make sense. Hell, we seldom make sense. So, what is it this time that's got you in a twist?" 

"The Hastings hired Wyllodrus Finch in secret in the spring of seventeen-sixty-one. I found a letter from one of their retainers saying they found him in Swansea, and he was willing to do it, but he wanted payment first. Doesn't say they wanted him to murder Thomas, but that's what it meant," Dennis grumbled. 

After departing Cameron's flat mid-morning, much to the protestations of the legal resident, Dennis went to another of the Nottingham archives located further north. One of the docents at the Nottinghamshire Archives told him most of the Hastings records could be found there. The docent did not lie. Records from the Hasting's family dating back to the building of their first foundry waited in ample supply. Dennis read about how the North's managed to annex some of their lands, and it caused a cancer in the family for a number years. It seemed to culminate in their learning about and hiring Wyllodrus Finch. One letter he copied referred to the man’s extraordinary abilities and gifts. Dennis took that to mean magic. A diary entry stated that, in May of 1761, they finally found an answer to the North issue. 

"The North issue. I think they meant to kill Richard as well Thomas," Dennis cryptically told his father. "Neither of them had a son, so the title would either pass out of the North hands or to the Essex branch of the family. It was revenge, Dad, pure and simple. The wanted blood for the land the North's managed to snick out from under them." 

"And you can absolutely prove this?" His father questioned. 

Dennis looked away. 

"It's probably a solid circumstantial case, Denny, but where's the one bit of evidence that says they masterminded this whole bloody affair?" 

"Still looking for it." 

"Think you'll ever find it?" His father pressed. 

"I don't know," Dennis confessed. "It all… I just want a final answer, Dad. I want to be able to look at this man's picture and say he did it, and know he did it. Thomas' reaction when he looks at this will tell me. He’ll be the proof Wyllodrus killed him, but we still won't know the why of it." 

"Are you ready to accept you may never get that why answered?" 

Dennis made a low grumbling sound in the back of his throat. He pulled the Prophet out from under The Guardian. It would not do to let a wizarding paper get mixed in with the recyclable paper. Not only would it contaminate the lot, but it would probably set the recycling center afire. 

"Denny, we spend a lot our time without the answers we want. That's the way of it, but you're going to drive yourself 'round the bend trying to make it different. Sometimes you just have to accept you've gone as far as you can and leave it that," Duncan advised his son. 

The younger Creevey turned his whole body to face his father. A latent anger at the unfairness of life reemerged. He could not simply let matters sit. Someone got away with something horrible, and that needed to be exposed. Acceptance and silence seemed to guarantee terrible events would continue to be the norm if people did not stand up and demand answers and the truth. 

"Why, Dad? Why do we have to accept that? Why do we let so much stuff go unanswered? That doesn't do anyone any good!" He railed. "Who does it actually serve? Right now no one knows the Hickings paid a wizard to assassinate the ninth Earl of Nottingham. Thomas'll never get justice. How is that fair? And don't give me that shite about life not being fair. That's how criminals get away with what they do!" 

Duncan blinked at his son. Dennis sat and waited for his father to respond. Fury at the unnecessary indignities of life filled the young man. He could feel his magical powers tingling in his fingers and all the way up to his shoulders. The lamp attached to the side of the house began to flicker in response. Both Creevey's looked at it. Dennis did not calm down. 

"Colin died because people refused to believe Voldemort would do what he did even when he was doing it. They didn't stand up to him when they had the chance to stop him," Dennis railed at a long simmering topic. "Magic didn't kill Colin, Dad: people did. Voldemort's people killed him. Magic can't do anything unless someone tells it what to do. That curse couldn't kill Thomas without Wyllodrus Finch… and you want me to just sit here and accept it?" 

"And what can we do about? Huh? There wasn't a thing your mother or I… even you could do to stop them from killing your brother!" His father yelled. 

"See? That's how the win! They let us fight each other, blame each other, accept defeat while they go on doing whatever the hell they want. It takes all of us, Dad, doesn't matter who can use magic, but it takes all of us to do something," Dennis yelled right back. "It's when we sit on our arses saying nothing can be done or… or… or we couldn't do anything 'bout it that makes us weak. We get so fucking comfortable and complacent that we don't want to see trouble is coming our way!" 

"Then what do we do?" 

"We fight! That's what Colin did. He fought, Dad. He fought to stop that bastard from hurting any more people," and Dennis calmed when a truth clicked in his mind. "Colin fought and died for something he loved. He loved magic, Dad. I love magic… and I hate it when anyone does something deliberately wrong with it. I want to stop them. Yeah, it'll probably get me killed one day, but at least I'm not just going to sit around and be bitter and say nothing can be done. I will do something about it!" 

It nearly stopped Dennis in mid-tirade when he saw a look of shame settle on his father's face. Duncan lowered his eyes, then he lowered his face. His son watched as tears tumbled down the cheeks. It tugged at Dennis’ heart, but it did not change the central facts of any issue currently facing him. 

"Dad, what?" He quietly implored. 

"I feel… so helpless, Denny. Like there's nothing I can do to protect you," his father said in a gruff voice. "You live in this world we I don't have any power… not like you've got. And what I can I do. I couldn't save Colin… and I can't save you." 

His father cried. At long last Dennis heard the grief he knew his father harbored, and he also heard what made it so bitter for the man. He felt powerless against seeming overwhelming forces, and Dennis understood that. He got up and went to his father. Dennis circled his arms around the brawny shoulders he knew he would never grow, and held him. Sorrow poured from his father in a great torrent. His father's strong arms circled Dennis' skinny waist, and he tightly hugged his son. 

"Couldn't… save him," the man sobbed. "Failed… his fa… ther failed." 

"No, Dad. You didn't fail Colin. Where do you think he got the courage to stand up to Voldemort?” Dennis said in as soothing voice as he could command. “Where do you think Colin and me got the nerve to got to Hogwarts? You and Mum made us brave… made us unafraid. Don’t ever think you failed, Dad. You raised hero in Colin.” 

Garbled words came out of his father. Tears slid down Dennis’ cheeks as well. Time and again he thought himself a failure at Hogwarts, but Professor Flitwick, his too few friends, and even Peeves convinced him otherwise. It did not take much imagination to realize his father, and his mother, lacked anyone who could help them through their hardships. The secrecy laws isolated them as well. They suffered alone with one another while their living son learned how to endure, and in some small way he came to nascent if fragile terms with his brother’s death. Dennis knew he needed to share an important item with his parents. An artifact of their family history needed to be revealed. 

“Dad?” He quietly said the name while trying to unlatch his father’s arms. “Dad!” 

Duncan looked up at him with puffy eyes and a blotchy face. 

“I have to go get something I should’ve showed you ages ago.” 

“Denny?” The man croaked. 

“Just give me a second.” 

Duncan released his son. Dennis went to the door and trotted through the house. His mother’s concentration on some television program did not get broken. The young wizard raced to his room. He knelt in front of his dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer containing clothes he rarely wore. His hand fished around in the back left corner. His finger grazed Colin’s wand and sparked at the contact. Dennis ignored it. Finally, he found an envelope. With it clutched in his hand, he returned to the backyard. His father looked up at him. 

“Read this,” Dennis said and gave him the envelope. He then returned to the chair he originally occupied and sat down. 

His father lifted the flap and pulled out a somewhat worn piece of parchment. He unfolded it. Even from where he sat Dennis would recognize his brother’s spidery penmanship anywhere. In his mind, he recited the words he memorized with weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts. 

_“Dennis -_

_You’re going to be mad at me, but don’t be. I have to go. I can’t let Hogwarts fall. We can’t let LV win, so I’m doing this for  
both of us. It’s magic and we need it. You’ve got to stay with Mum and Dad. You’ve got to keep them safe. You’re a better  
wizard than me, and you can protect them if it doesn’t go right. I know you can. _

__Please don’t be mad, Dennis. You’re my brother, but you’re also my best mate in the whole world. I can’t let anything happen  
to you. Ever. Mum and Dad would be wrecked if anything did. You can yell at me when I get back. Call me a twit or a prat or  
a faery fart. Just keep them alive for us. I need you to do this. 

_I love you, Brother._

_\- Colin”_

It seemed to take forever for his father to read the last message Colin ever wrote. Dennis suspected his father read it several times. The man cast a glance at him. Dennis felt his nerves pull tight. 

“I know why you didn’t show us this, Denny. I wouldn’t’ve shown it to me, either. Not right away,” Duncan told his youngest son in a controlled manner. “Can I ask you something?” 

Dennis nodded. 

“Would you have gone after him?” 

Dennis nodded again. 

“Did this note keep you home?” 

“Yeah, Dad, it did,” the young man stated. “I knew he’d been working on some new magic. Colin taught himself to apparate. I found the study notes in his chest… when we cleaned out his room. I didn’t know how to do it. Would’ve taken me days to get to Hogwarts, but I knew he wanted me to watch out for you and Mum. So, I stayed.” 

“Was it difficult staying here knowing what was happening at school?” His father gruffly inquired. 

Dennis shifted around in his chair. He thought the truth might hurt his father even more, yet a lie might hurt him worse. It took a few seconds, but he decided to faithfully answer. His nerves hummed, and he coughed to hide a small, nervous laugh. Then Dennis faced his father. 

“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he admitted. “Don’t get me wrong. I love you and Mum so much. I thought you’d be safe even if the war did happen at Hogwarts. Colin… he wasn’t so sure. He thought Voldemort wanted to take over everything. Thought that bleeding bastard would ruin magic. He was right. I knew it when I read that note. I stayed for you and Mum, Dad, and for Colin.” 

“I’m glad you stayed, son. Colin was right… I don’t think your mother or I would’ve survived losing both of you,” Duncan told the young man, the wizard, sitting across from. “I don’t know if I can ever stop being angry at him, Dennis. I miss him so much it kills me a little bit every day. I miss watching you and him discover this incredible gift that got handed to you.” 

The man paused and wiped his cheeks. He also snuffled back against his sinuses. However, he never broke eye contact with his son. 

“And I hate what his death did to you, son. I know a part of you died with him. I didn’t know how to make it better. All that life in you went cold without him. It hurt... still hurts so much to look at you and see the missing joy for your life. I didn’t know how to help you, and I failed you as well.” 

Dennis felt his eyes overflow again. 

“Then, when we found out you’re gay… Colin could’ve explained it to us. You know that, too. It was like every time we looked at you you turned into a different person. I blamed magic. I blamed the school. I think I was wrong, and… it was another failure on my part,” the man quietly told him. 

“Dad, you didn’t fail,” Dennis croaked the words. 

“I don’t know where you got it from, maybe your mother, but I’ve seen you change these last couple of months. It took seeing you with Cam to understand you can be happy again… I just needed to get out of the way.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you you’re not in the way?” Dennis half-blubbered. 

“But what surprised me the most is how far you’re willing to go to help this Thomas North. It’s become personal to you, and maybe it had to,” his father said and sat up straight in his chair. “After all you went through at school, you put it aside to help this man. That’s courage, Dennis. That’s real character. I could never figure out what kind of man you’d turn out to be, but… I like what I see. You’re a good man, son.” 

Dennis smiled as water raced down his face. 

“I know it’s never going to be like it was before. It can’t be. That’s hard for me to accept, but I’m trying to change, too. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be easy, but… Colin was right again. It’d wreck your mum and me if we lost you. I can’t let that happen.” 

“You’re doing real good, Dad. I don’t want to lose you, either. I’m always going to need my dad,” he replied and held his hand out over the table. 

His father took it. Dennis closed his eyes and concentrated. He wanted his father to feel at least once the unusual euphoria to be found in magic. In his mind he recalled the day he got the letter saying he would go to Hogwarts. He would be with his brother again, and they would experience the adventure of a lifetime together. Joy coursed through as he held his father’s hand. 

“Expecto patronum,” he whispered. 

Silver light erupted from his palm. The powerful spell remained caught between the two hands, but the effect could not be diminished. Dennis began to laugh. He laughed because no matter how old he got, no matter what dangers he would confront, nothing could tarnish the love he felt for his family. Somewhere in the distance Dennis thought he heard Colin laugh. 

“Good god,” his father chortled. “Dennis, this is… what is this?” 

“It’s magic, Dad. My magic, and it makes me happy. I love magic, too. Almost as much as I love you and Mum,” Dennis answered. 

“Son, is this what it feels like for you all time?” 

“No. This spell… Harry taught us it’s pure joy. It’s everything we love about life. This is what it’s like when I think about you, Mum, and Colin. This is one of the most powerful spells a witch or a wizard can cast,” he said and still felt as though he did not explain it right. “Know them Star Wars movies you love so much?” 

His father nodded. 

“Well, this is what the force would feel like. This is my life force your feeling.” 

A small, strange smile took shape on his father’s face. It curled the edges of his mouth in a way Dennis forgot could happen. Duncan Creevey grinned like a child as he held onto his son’s hand as the magic poured out of him. Dennis felt connected to his father in an intensely new way. He at last got to share the essence of what magic meant to him. It heightened the spell, and the light became brighter. 

“This is… beautiful,” Duncan said while gazing at his son and smiling. 


	12. Chapter 12

No one in the Creevey house thought it would be a miraculous overnight transformation, but they all appreciated a new start. Pain of the magnitude they experienced individually and together simply did not vanish like magic. Yet acceptance and understanding could be just as powerful as a spell. Dennis shared Colin's last note with his mother later in the evening, and he also repeated the expecto patronum spell with her. She seemed as rapturous as his father afterward. It acted as an invitation to understand a tiny fraction of their son's other world. By the end of that evening, it seemed as though the Creevey family would not disintegrate from wounds kept hidden for too long.

Dennis walked along the main road to the Hogwarts' castle. He apparated just outside the gate, presented his wand, and entered. Worry nagged him since his discussion with Justin Finch-Fletchley the previous Saturday and the new information he uncovered. Too many disturbing questions got raised and, as he railed at his father, no answers seemed forthcoming. However, he hoped they would get one definitive answer that morning. Dressed in his standard style of cargo shorts and tee-shirt against what promised to be an oppressively warm day, he marched forward and his backpack thumped against his shoulder. August would arrive the next day, and Dennis wanted the month to start on new footing. 

"Thomas? Lucia?" He called out as he walked out on the promontory under a gray sky. Dennis could see them, but he did not want to startle them. 

"Good morning, Mister Creevey," Thomas hailed him. 

"Good morning, Dennis," Lucia replied. 

They stood staring out over the loch as normal bedecked in clothing they wore for nearly two and a half centuries. 

"Yes, I hope it will be a good morning," he answered and let his backpack slide from his shoulder to his hand. 

Thomas finished turning to face him. The translucent face regarded Dennis with what amounted to ghostly interest. Lucia gazed at him. 

"I suspect you bring us news," the late Earl of Nottingham noted. 

"More than that, Thomas. I think I've brought you the face of your killer." 

The almost fearful expectation that settled on the two spectral visages set the appropriate tone. Dennis dug out his now overstuffed notebook. He brought all his research for a different purpose, but needed to find the enlarged copy of Wyllodrus Finch's portrait. He curled it, so as to keep the picture concealed for a few more seconds. 

"I tried to find out what showing you this will do to you, Thomas, but the books hardly ever talk about what happens after a curse is lifted," he explained. "So, if this is really him, we're going to learn a lot more than who killed you." 

"It's a fair warning, Dennis, and I thank you," the man said and inclined his head. 

"Um, Lucia, I'm thinking maybe you need to step back a little," Dennis suggested. 

"Oh, yes. Of course," Mrs. Hughes replied and floated backward away from her father. 

The living wizard stepped up to the expired one. Little less than a meter separated them. The end Dennis' wand stuck out from his right pant pocket. He unfurled the page between his hands. The he looked at Thomas. 

"Ready, your lordship?" He asked. 

Thomas' face momentarily cracked into a smile before he replied: "Let us be done with this once and for all time." 

Dennis quickly held up the copy of the picture, and then tilted his head so he could see around it. For weeks he read about curses whenever he visited the library at Hogwarts or the Ministry trying to find a way to lift them. He knew the silencing curse would be destroyed if Thomas saw the face of his murderer since the spell got designed to hide that information. 

Thomas stared wide-eyed at the image. He let out a series of shorts gasps. One hand went to his mouth while the other pressed against his stomach. The man leaned forward as if his knees would buckle. Horror and pain consumed his visage. 

"Dear Lord!" Thomas coughed out the words. Then he sucked in a huge lungful of air into lungs that no longer needed it. "Dear God, that is the man! I knew him as William Fineal!" 

Thomas breathed as though he ran a marathon or surfaced after being submerged too long under the water. He never blinked, and his eyes remained fixed on the picture. The panic and terror ebbed from the man's features. In its place a visceral anger, almost hatred, resided. Dennis could not blame his friend for the reaction. 

"Damn him," Thomas whispered. 

"Wyllodrus Finch died in prison in seventeen-seventy-three. He got caught in a plot to assassinate your brother, Richard. One of the Hickings ratted him out. I think they liked and respected Richard," Dennis stated what he learned after making a second visit to the Ministry library annex in York. "His powers got bound so he couldn't escape. Wyllodrus died a convicted criminal, basically a muggle, in prison. There was some justice for your family, Thomas." 

"Dennis, I never heard any of this," Lucia said in a worried tone. 

"Do you remember if your uncle went to Birmingham in that year? Finch was tried and imprisoned there," Dennis inquired. 

"No, I did not. I was married to Geoffrey by that time and residing on his estate at Nether Hall. I already gave him three children by seventeen-seventy-three," the woman rejoined. 

"And I already know the Hastings did not get implicated in the plot since they married into the title," Thomas said in an aggrieved manner. 

"Sukey Hastings claimed she overheard the men plotting at one of their foundries, but… it's pretty clear she was lying. She never changed her story, though, and Finch's conviction rested on her testimony. I couldn't find anything more on why she turned against Finch. He might've threatened her family for all we know," Dennis commented. 

"Very plausible," the dean man agreed. 

"Thomas, how do you feel right now?" 

"Still very much not living," he replied and then smirked. "No, there is a weight lifted from me. Whatever constraints the curse placed on my mind and tongue no longer hold. If you wish, I can explain how he murdered me." 

"Not today. Maybe in the next few days when you've had time to time to adjust. Thomas, I just want you to be free from this for at least one day without having to worry 'bout anything else. You've more than earned it," Dennis said. 

"Your kindness knows no bounds, Mister Creevey," Thomas said and sounded touched. "If I may, I would like to call upon your services one last time." 

"Oh, this isn't over, Thomas. We've got to make sure whatever spell binding you here gets banished. I think I'll be spending a lot of time in libraries again looking for the counter-spell." 

"You do realize I am now able to tell you what he recited?" 

"That'll help, but it's a lot more complicated from what I've read. I might need to get Professor Flitwick to help. This is going to take some serious spellcasting," Dennis countered. 

Thomas smiled at him and said: "Then I am very good hands and shall simply count the days until the task is completed. I am of the mind I will not need to count for too long." 

Dennis shrugged. 

"Now, if you would be so good as to fetch your parchment and a quill, there is a small matter I would like you to attend for me when your time permits," the man requested. 

The younger wizard went to his backpack and grabbed the necessary items. He sat on the ground, cross-legged, and with his pen hand hovering over a blank page in his notebook. He waited on the Earl. 

"Tell me, Dennis, have you taken it upon yourself to make a visit to Wollacott Hall?" 

"No. Thought about it just to see where you lived, but they charge twenty Euros for a tour. I was a bit chuffed about that when I found out," Dennis informed his friend. 

"Then may I impose upon you to bear the sum?" Thomas asked, but did not wait for an answer. The he walked over and stood behind Dennis. "Now, you will need to draft a map, so please pay attention to what I tell you." 

For over an hour Thomas directed Dennis in fashioning a floorplan of the main floor of Wollacott Hall. Although not a very good artist by any stretch of the imagination, Dennis managed to produce a fair rendering under the watchful eye of the Earl of Nottingham who describe the manor as if he just visited it the day before. The floorplan that emerged intrigued the younger wizard. He noted the West Dining Room as instructed and the location of the secret room. 

"Now, do you understand why that room likely remains undiscovered to this day?" Thomas asked. 

"Father? When did you have this built?" Lucia inquired who stood behind the other shoulder of Dennis. 

"A good twelve years before you were born, my dear. When my magic began to reveal itself, your grandmother begged your grandfather to build the room so I would have a safe domain where I could learn the craft. Father could never deny mother," Thomas told his daughter in a soft voice. 

"Grandfather was a good and gentle man," the woman rejoined. "I remember well how he mourned Grandmother's passing. He seemed lonely all the rest of his days." 

"I believe he was. He loved her dearly." 

Dennis felt like an interloper as the father and daughter reminisced about past family members. 

"And, Dennis," Thomas returned to him following several seconds of silence. "Whatever remains in that room I bequeath to you for the services you so faithfully rendered to me. Since I think none have entered since last I paid visit to that room, I am hoping what few small trinkets you find will serve as but a poor thanks for all you accomplished on my behalf." 

"Thomas, you don't have to…" 

"And neither did you, but you did, Dennis" the man interjected. "Today I stand free of the wretched curse that stilled my tongue and gave paralysis to my form. I have learned some measure of justice got meted out to the man who slew me. Most of all, you returned a daughter I thought lost to me forever. Were I to give you all I once possessed, it would not suffice to express the gladness and thanks in my heart that I hold for you." 

"You're my friend," Dennis tried to accept the compliment as best he could. 

"Truer to me than most I ever knew in life. In truth, Dennis, had fortune graced me so, I would hope for son exactly as you are. Though I know tribulations came to you and your parents, I cannot help but think of the pride that swells in their chests when they look upon you. You are a fine example of what a wizard… a man… a person should be." 

"You're embarrassing me, Thomas," the young man mumbled. 

"Then I am glad for it, and hope in time I can afford you such similar embarrassments as to roast the ears from your head!" Thomas exclaimed. 

"Father!" Lucia laughed. 

Dennis grinned. He admired and liked Thomas. He liked Lucia. He counted both as friends. They talked for a short while until Dennis excused himself from their company. He explained he needed to talk to others about removing the last curse from Thomas. Although they seemed loathe to let him quit the merry little scene they created, they let Dennis depart with more thanks struggling to get into his ears. He created a plan in his head for the day, and he moved onto the next piece of business, and he planned on returning to Hogwarts later in the afternoon. 

"Dennis!" Hermione exclaimed when he tapped on and then walked through her office door. "How good to see you!" 

"You, too, Miss Granger," he replied. 

"Oh, please. It's just Hermione." 

He smirked at her. 

"So, what brings you to see me today?" She asked. 

"Fulfilling a promise I made to you," Dennis answered and held aloft his notebook. "I've got one hell of a story to tell you." 

"Is this about Silent Thom?" The junior Ministry official eagerly inquired. 

"Oh, yeah. This is all about the life, murder, and afterlife of the ninth Earl of Nottingham, Lord Thomas Lester Jonathan North." 

Hermione jumped up from her chair where she sat behind a desk stacked high with folders and sheaves of paper. She ran to the door, closed it, and flipped around a do-not-disturb sign. Then brilliant witch trotted back to Dennis and ushered him to a chair. She forced him to sit, and then sat in the one next to it. 

"You did say murder?" She breathlessly inquired. 

"I've got all the evidence here… and you should send someone out to interview Thomas to get all facts 'cause you're not going to believe half of it," he said to her. 

With that introduction, Dennis began to tell his former schoolmate the story as he uncovered it. He flipped though the pages of his notebook, showed Hermione copies of the documents he created and where she could find them. About five minutes into his narrative, the young woman stopped him. 

"We need to record this," she emphatically stated. 

Hermione rose from her chair and went to the door. The heels of her shoes clacked on the floor. After she cracked open the door, she glanced about. 

"Conrad!" She barked. "Get a transcribing spell, a big notebook, and get in here… and bring us a tea service! Please and thank you!" 

When she returned to her seat, Hermione asked: "Dennis, do mind if we make this an official Ministry report? I think it's that important." 

"Seriously?" Dennis nearly burped the word. 

"Dennis, you revealed the murder of an eighteenth century noble committed by a wizard. So, of course this is important. Isn't it always better when truth wins out over rumor and myth and legend?" 

"I suppose it is." 

They regarded one another for a moment in silent agreement. 

"Ooh, I wish Harry wasn't in the field today. He would so love to hear this. He sounded absolutely fascinated when I told him I ran into you and what you're working on. Harry told me to give you his best and that he's pleased you're doing well," she told him in a rush. 

Dennis gaped at her. Hermione rolled her eyes at him. 

"You know, he's better now that we've got some years behind us after the war. Nobody really cares much about The Boy Who Lived anymore. Not that he's still not famous, but… Harry's got more of his own life now." 

"Well, tell him I said hello and I owe him a pint for… back then. Not for killing Voldemort. That was important, but for how nice he was to me afterward," Dennis rejoined. 

"It'll make him happy to know someone remembers for something personal like that." 

They got into a small chat about the developments in the lives of her, Ron, and Harry. Dennis heard about the elaborate plans Mrs. Weasley made for the marriages of her daughter and son. It did not surprise him when Hermione said both she and Ginny wanted small, intimate gatherings of the important people in their lives. She also said she feared The Daily Prophet would try to turn the ceremonies into a front page events. When her assistant, Conrad, returned with tea and other needed items, Hermione transformed back into her Ministry persona. She became very businesslike and focused on the central issue. For the next two hours, she directed a rather intensive interview of Dennis while making copies of the associated notes and papers. His brain felt stretched thin by the time he stumbled out of Hermione's office. 

Fifteen minutes later he found Professor Flitwick occupied in his classroom. Dennis let his footfalls announce his arrival. When he knocked on the door, the tiny man waved for him to enter. 

"And what news do you bring me today, Dennis?" Professor Flitwick asked while inviting him to take a seat at a desk closest to his. 

"Just that we solved Thomas' murder, Professor," Dennis began. 

For a second time, he recounted the story of the killing of the Earl of Nottingham. After the grilling he received from Hermione, Dennis managed to whittle the story down to a bare-bones version. Professor Flitwick sat in rapt attention throughout the telling. 

"That is quite a tale. Ever think you should write a book about it?" The man asked. 

"No, and I don't want to. Wipple and Derge's name kept popping up, and I don't want this to be like one of their cheap novels. I've got too much respect for Thomas and his daughter to put them through that," Dennis said and rejected the idea. "Besides, the official Ministry report will be enough. People can read it there if they’re so interested." 

"You're respect for other's privacy is commendable," his mentor complimented him. "And I don't think Headmistress McGonagall would be happy with hordes of people trying to sneak into Hogwarts to get a peak at Lord North and Lady Hughes. Perhaps not writing a story about this is for the best." 

"Totally, but that's only a third of the reason why I came to talk to you." 

"Go on!" 

"First, I think I'm going to need help dispelling the curse binding Thomas to Hogwarts. I've read it can be tricky and dangerous for the living. Can't imagine what it'd be like for a ghost," Dennis explained. 

"Closer to an exorcism, I would think," Professor Flitwick quipped, "and that could go horribly wrong. How much research have you done?" 

"Well, I just got the details of what Finch did today, so I've got to do some more." 

"And here you thought you might be done with books, eh, Mister Creevey?" His friend lightly teased him. 

"Funny, you know. I think I might be learning more outside of school than I did in," Dennis confessed. 

"As Dumbledore liked to say: a truly curios mind never stops learning. And despite how you make yourself sound at times, I think you have one of those minds, Dennis. You did a stellar job sorting out Silent Thom's past. You showed persistence and determination, both fine qualities of scholar." 

"I'm no scholar, Professor, and a few people really helped. But… in a weird and frustrating way, I really enjoyed doing this. Mostly 'cause it helped someone who really needed it. Who deserved it." 

The small man smiled at him in a knowing manner. 

"Great Merlin, not you, too. Thomas, Lucia, and Hermione all looked at me like that today. Stop puffing up my head!" Dennis quailed. 

"Your modesty notwithstanding, Dennis, you should be proud of yourself. Your motives were pure, and that may be what saw you through this to the end. Because you didn't do this for your own benefit, perhaps out of your sense of friendship, it allowed you to view this in a clean light. Think on that for a while," Professor Flitwick half-praised and half-admonished him. 

"Not likely. My brain's a bit full right now. That brings me to the third part… and I need you to think about what I'm going to say before you reject the idea," Dennis somewhat demanded. 

"Very well. Tell me." 

Dennis explained to the professor what he learned about the spell that killed Thomas, without revealing the name of it, and how he wanted that knowledge permanently erased from his mind. The younger man stated the horribleness of it plagued him. 

"I'm not saying no, Dennis, until I get more details, but do you understand how very dangerous this could be? What you want requires a very deft hand. Done wrong, it could wipe out your mind. If it comes down to it, I won't have any part in turning you into a mindless shell of a body," the professor said in a grim tone. 

"Professor, I do understand it's dangerous, but what I leaned is even more dangerous. It's a type of killing curse meant to cause pain… horrible pain before it kills. I don't even want the name of it in my head. Don't ask me to tell you what it is right now 'cause I won't!" 

In the cathedral-like room his voice echoed off the walls and upper rafters. Dennis heard his own strident tone. The opprima anima curse terrified him in ways he barely understood. It seemed so reprehensibly evil that just knowing the name felt like it corroded his mind. 

“You truly don’t like this spell, do you?” Professor Flitwick asked in a sympathetic manner. 

“It’s like someone gave me a primed wand, and I’m waiting for it to explode and kill everyone in sight,” he answered. “Sir, this spell really needs to be added to the Unforgivable list. Personally, I say it worse than avada.” 

Professor Flitwick did not respond for nearly a minute before he said: “I wonder if they didn’t leave off the list on purpose. Dennis, can you give me one hint as something about it.” 

“It squeezes the life out a person. They suffocate for a while before they die. Thomas said… and you can see it on his face, he said it was the most horrible thing he ever experience or could even imagine going through. The worst part: Thomas couldn’t talk, so he couldn’t cast a bleeding counter spell.” 

The small professor appeared appropriately horrified by the description. Dennis watched his mentor think, just as it he did throughout most of his academic career. He then decided to add one final, personal detail. 

“Professor?” Dennis use the word to get the man’s attention. His friend looked at him. “Peeves said if he heard I even thought about using this spell, he would count me as his enemy forever. He told me to forget I ever discovered its name.” 

“And he did make some bad joke of it?” Professor Flitwick inquired. 

“No. He sounded angry. Then he disappeared right after he told me that. This is no joke to him. Peeves said he saw what it does to people… and I think it scared him.” 

The teacher began to drum his fingers against the top of his desk as he lapsed back into silence. He gazed at a point far away. His breathing became shallow as he slipped deeper into thought. Very gradually Profess Flitwick’s prodigious eyebrows drew together. Dennis patiently waited. 

“What exactly do you want done, Dennis?” His mentor questioned him. 

“I want the name removed from my mind. I want to remember what it does, but I don’t want any other… solid details about it left behind. Right now I don’t know how it’s cast, I don’t know the wand movements, but if I ever let the name slip somebody will be able to track it down,” Dennis sated his desire. 

“That is very precise, and I’m not sure it can be done without taking some of the surrounding memories with it. You may not be able to remember the details of how you solved this case.” 

“Except I already told the story to Hermione Granger at the Ministry, and she – okay, her assistant – wrote down every word I said. She also made copies of my research notes and files. The name of the spell isn’t in any of that, and never said it aloud. If I ever need to remember what I did, I can just read the report.” 

“You put a lot of thought into this, Dennis, so it behooves me to follow suit. I need time, however. Don’t expect me to reach a quick conclusion,” the brilliant wizard solemnly stated. “I will also talk to Lord North and his daughter. That will also give me the opportunity to hear what he has to say about the location binding spell. Are we agreed?” 

“Yes, sir… and thank you, Professor.” 

“If you were anyone else, I’d say no straight off. I know you too well, Dennis, to simply dismiss your worries when you voice them. You kept too much inside of yourself at times, and I fear you’ve made a bad habit of it. Find people you can trust, and then trust them.” 

“I’m trying, Professor. I think I made a good start with you, Thomas, and Peeves,” Dennis rejoined. 

“How about people your own age?” Professor Flitwick in a slightly sarcastic manner. 

“Well, there is Cam and his friends. I get on well with them. We have good times.” 

“And wizard friends?” 

Dennis both balked and flinched. 

“I understand your… distaste for the witches and wizards you attended school with, but there are more than just them. There’re cafes you could visit in Diagon Alley. I hear there is a robust night life over at Mobius Street. Cardiff has some wonderful communities more in line with your orientation. It’s there, Dennis, if you just look,” his mentor once more schooled him. 

“I know, Professor,” Dennis meekly said. 

“By Barnaby, my lad: you sussed out a two-hundred and fifty year murder! Apply some of that intuitiveness to your own life. You might surprise yourself by having some fun with people very much like you. You simply need to put a little effort into it.” 

Dennis nodded his head, but said nothing. 

“You are nothing if not headstrong, Mister Creevey. I think you spent too much time with Peeves,” the professor informed in a clearly mock rueful manner. 

“You might be spot on there,” he replied through a smirk. 

“And you never did tell me how the weekend Cam spent with you went.” 

From there they discussed portions of Dennis’ personal life he would not otherwise discuss with most others he knew. The professor found it interesting Dennis managed to circulate in muggles circles with such ease until Dennis reminded him of his initial upbringing. It also required a reminder he lived with two muggles: his parents. 

“That is true, and I hadn’t forgot. Usually by this age most muggle-born witches and wizards begin to associate more with the magical community. Their identity begins to coalesce around their magical abilities. It is unfortunate to say that by their early thirties, people of your origin retain only a sparse relationship with their muggle relatives. I think maybe I should commend you for remaining close to your parents,” Professor Flitwick said in his lecturing voice. 

“That’s only just started coming true,” Dennis cautiously stated. 

It led to another very personal discussion about the recent developments with his parents. Dennis recited the content of Colin’s final letter, and his friend’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. Unlike every other time he talked about his late brother, Dennis did not feel crushing sadness that would drive him to tears. He felt sadness, experienced grief and sorrow, but managed to keep his emotions more or less in check. 

“I misjudged something about you, my boy. Your sense of attachment and loyalty are exceedingly strong. Is Colin’s letter still compelling you to stay with your parents?” The professor smartly queried. 

“No, not much if at all. Now, I’m more driven by wanting to be a family with them again. We’ve mourned Colin for so long I think we got stuck,” he quietly responded. “I don’t think they ever understood why he came back here. Why he fought in the battle. Why he would die for all this. When I shared my patronus with them…” 

“They are so purely magical.” 

“Um, I think you need to hear what I did.” 

Five minutes later, his friend and mentor gaped at him. 

“What? Did I break a law or something?” Dennis asked and glanced around in case aurors suddenly appeared. 

“That is a brilliant tactic, Dennis. I’m stunned you were able to call it up without your wand. That shows a high level of mental control. I cannot imagine what experiencing your magic meant to them. Absolutely brilliant,” the man heaped more praise on him. 

“Thanks,” he said and accepted it. “It helped them understand a little bit. My dad hates magic, but maybe not as much as he used to. I think he’s starting to figure out that by hating magic he hates a big part of me.” 

“It’s hard not to either fear or be jealous of us if you’re a muggle. So much of the strife between us stems for those two reactions.” 

“Unless it’s someone like Wyllodrus Finch. I guess revenge is the same for all of us.” 

Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows while slowly nodding his head. 

Later that evening Dennis called Cameron to find out his plans for the weekend. Cameron told him the rare workday on a weekend came up. The man he to whom he apprenticed got asked if he could help finish a renovation when the original plumber could not live up to his promises. Cameron said that although it did not obligate him, he did not want to disappoint his boss and it would give him more hours of on-site work. As he neared the end of his third year as an apprentice, Cameron never missed an opportunity to get accredited work training. 

“Well, while you’re of being a proper member of society, I’m going to take the scally route… 

Cameron snickered at the use of the word. The slight crackle, hiss, and pop his magic caused on the landline phone did not bother either of them. Unless Dennis got excited about something, it became tolerable background noise. 

“And get in some sight-seeing. What I know about Nottingham is too centered on one family,” he told his boyfriend. “I think I need to get out see what’s actually there.” 

“What about when you go out with me and mates?” Cameron asked in a faux hurt tone. 

“Just because I can name the best west side pubs doesn’t mean I know anything ‘bout the city.” 

“’Cept the important parts!” 

They both laughed. 

“Does that mean you’re coming in on Friday?” The young man on the other end of the call asked. 

“Need to get some sleep? I can stay here if you do,” Dennis replied. 

“Are you being a twat on purpose?” 

“Yeah. Pretty much.” 

They laughed again. 

“If I can catch the six train, I’ll be there ‘round nine. You going to wait for me at your flat or head out?” Dennis inquired. 

He sat on the floor next to the hob and leaned against the dishwasher. The sound of the television reached him, but not enough to drown out Cameron's voice or be a distraction. He waited for the complaint. 

“If you learned how to take care of a cell phone, then I could text you where we'd be going and you could leg it there," Cameron replied. 

"Maybe if you got me a trainer phone…" 

Cameron started laughing so hard Dennis could not finish the statement. The wizard sat and smiled. He loved to hear his boyfriend laugh. It made the world seem less unpredictable to him. More than anything, Dennis wanted predictability after all he learned in the past couple of weeks. He did not want to believe people plotted horrible acts against one another despite all the evidence to the contrary. 

"You alright, Denny?" Cameron asked when Dennis did not join into the full-throated laughter. 

"Can't help stop thinking of what his last few minutes must've been like," Dennis admitted. "Thomas North was just going about his life when this other bloke up and decides to kill him. And knowing some other family paid him to do it… what is wrong with people?" 

"You're going to spend your whole life asking that question if you're not careful. People can be petty, stupid, and mean, and it's probably not going to stop any time soon. All we can do is make sure we don't turn out like that." 

"That's a good bit of advice." 

"Been hanging out with you too much already. Got me thinking all these deep thoughts. Someday I'm going to find out how all this got into your head… and I'm going to have a grand time doing it, too!" Cameron said in such a wholly optimistic manner it made is boyfriend smile. 

"I love you, Cam," Dennis heard himself say before he realized his brain plotted against him. 

"Love you, too," the voice on the other end of the call softly replied. "So, now that this is investigation is over, what's next?" 

"Guess I go back to being trash collector. I think Mister Odpadki's been taking on more jobs 'cause I'm doing okay. Some of the fellows that work for him aren't the sharpest bowling balls in the chandelier." 

Cameron chuckled at the mangled analogy. 

"I don't know. There was some bits I came across that could use some looking into. Might do that on the side just for fun," Dennis thought aloud as the memory of several ghosts with completely hidden backgrounds came to mind. "I think history could do with a bit of shaking up. Least ways it'll give Professor Binns something new to talk about." 

"You're a funny one, Dennis Creevey, what with all this learning you've gotten yourself into. Thought you were tired of school after all the shite they put you through?" His boyfriend gamely challenged. 

"'Cept this ain't just putting up with arseholes and waiting for class to end. This is how life happens." 

"Makes you depressed sometimes." 

"Yeah, but… right now, Cameron Vall, there's a bunch of people finding out their families aren't what they thought they are. That's got to come as a blow to them, but isn't the truth better than some pretty lie?" Dennis responded. 

"Lot of people stick with the lie if they think it makes them look better. Look at all those UKIP wankers. The shite they believe is terrible, but they still believe it. Lot of lies there, Denny," Cameron grumbled. 

"The world hasn't gone that stupid." 

"Oh, sure. It's the new millennia and all!" 

"That's just one calendar. You know the Druids think we should be celebrating the year seven-thousand, four-hundred, and thirty-four? Our calendar ain't nothing but bullocks to them!" Dennis said as his brain jumped tracks. 

"And there you go with that learning again! Who knows stuff like that, Denny? You're about the only one I ever met. A lot of the guys think you're one right smart tosser," Cameron rejoined. 

"They called me a tosser?" 

"Well, I added that bit. Sort of rounded out the whole compliment." 

Dennis started chuckling 

"Joking aside, you are pretty smart. You know a lot of weird stuff, and the way you got into the investigation. You made it sound like you were there and knew what was happening with those people who died so long ago. It was cool listening to what you found out," the voice coming through the phone receiver firmly stated. 

"Felt like it at times, 'specially when I started to find out what really happened," Dennis told him. "It's funny, but once I put names to pictures and figured out who was who, it did feel real to me… like I was personally involved." 

"I still think you should give becoming a police officer a shot," his boyfriend mumbled. 

"You watch too much telly. Me Mum thinks all murders can be solved in an hour or two. She thinks whenever I go out into the country to get some load of garbage I'm going snuff it in one of those villages." 

Cameron chortled and said: "Yeah, they do make the small towns look pretty dodgy. Who knew living in West Bridgford could turn someone into a murderous bastard?" 

Dennis snickered at the idea living in the southern suburb of Nottingham could change a person. 

"Think I'm kidding, eh? Head up to Hucknall and tell me those people there aren't a little loony. Load of inbreeders. Need more gay folk is what they need," Cameron grumbled as though he aged sixty years. 

"You trying to get me to move to Hucknall?" Dennis queried. 

"What? God, no!" Cameron rejoined in an aghast tone. "Was just making fun, but… no, don't want to live there. It'd be bleeding awful if you're not in love with mining history and knitting." 

"Hang on, Cam. There's a story there." 

"And a bloody boring one at that. Tell you what, mate: why don't you go have a look-see while you're on your walkabout 'round Nottingham on Saturday," Dennis' boyfriend suggested almost as a threat. "And don’t come back begging me for the transit fare, either. You get to waste your own bleeding money on that one!" 

Dennis sat on the floor, phone pressed to his head, and a smile cracked his face. He reveled in the fact not a single magical concern got raised. It reminded him of the days before Colin got his letter from Hogwarts. Although they both made small accidental magical events happen, life seemed pleasantly dull. It also explained why both Dennis and his brother became full of the dickens. They needed to invent fun to keep up with their energetic personalities. His smile changed and became more contemplative. Dennis honestly believed Colin would enjoy Cameron just as much. 

Twenty minutes later he strolled into the living room and slid onto the loveseat. It put him the furthest away from the television as he could get in the room. The quiz show Who Wants to be a Millionaire blazed on the screen. Chris Tarrant, the presenter, badgered the contestant about the finality of her answer. Dennis periodically caught his father gazing at him. 

"I did pay for most of this one," he reminded his father. 

"True, but I don't want you blowing up another set the moment you hear something you don't agree with," his father grumbled, but Dennis also saw the smirk. 

His parents sat in dual recliners. An end table separated the chairs and gave them a place to lodge their snacks and drinks. The new remote control also resided there. A lamp bearing one of the ugliest shades Dennis ever saw, and that included ones he saw in Hogsmeade, spread a yellow glow through around the area. Dennis' agile mind went to work as he lay on the loveseat staring at the program. 

"Oh, Dad! I've got this really neat trick I can show you where I turn the people on the screen purple!" 

"Don't you dare, Denny! Keep your wand away from that set!" 

"Got you," Dennis snickered. 

"Bloody menace having a wizard in the house," and yet Dennis did not hear any real condemnation in the words. 

"Cam coming down this weekend?" His mother asked when the commercial break ensued. 

"I'm heading up there on Friday. Thomas asked me to go visit his old manor, and I was going to use Saturday to do that. Cam's got a job during the day, so I'd be free to check it out my way," Dennis informed her. "But I am going get him to come down the next weekend." 

"Go fishing again?" His father inquired. 

"Sure. Cam said he enjoyed it last time. There's something nice about sitting quiet waiting for a fish to bite. It's like the world stands still for a minute," his son wistfully replied. 

"Bet that's a little odd for you, huh?" 

"A little," Dennis agreed. "Lot of surprises when magic's about." 

"You don't say?" His father humorously retorted. 


	13. Chapter 13

Cameron rose at the crack of dawn. Dennis awoke with him. They snogged for a little while before the dark-skinned young man said he needed to get ready. Dennis watched his naked boyfriend trot around the room, and then disappear through the door and into the hallway. The magical young man lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Although they did not actually fall asleep until late, he still felt refreshed. Over the course of the past two days Dennis started to grow antsy about finding out what Thomas left in his private room.

The kiss on his lips startled him awake. The lights flashed in the room. Cameron hovered over him grinning. 

"You are so cute when you're asleep," the handsome face said. 

"Look at you," Dennis said and yawned. "All dressed up like a plumber's apprentice. Kind of sexy." 

"You've gone mental, Denny, if you think this is sexy." 

"Gonna show a little butt crack to everyone?" 

Cameron started chuckling and said: "I think I have to by law." 

Dennis chortled at the response. 

"I should be back between five and six. I already talked to Ann yesterday, and she and Mays and Henrietta are going to meet us at The Lion’s Rose at seven-thirty for supper. After that we're going to The Tadger for some pool and darts and pints. Sound good?" 

"At least one of us has a plan," Dennis agreed. 

"Do you know how much I'd rather stay here next to you in bed?" Cameron quietly said while running his hand through Dennis' strawberry-blonde hair that needed a serious trim. 

"'Bout as much as I want you to stay. Does this mean I get to throw a fit and try to beg you off from work today?" 

"No, that's my routine. Get your own, wanker!" 

Dennis wrapped his arms around the neck of the young man who captured his heart. He pulled him in. Their lips met. It became rather passionate in only a few seconds. Cameron began to push against the bed after two minutes. Dennis did not release him for half a minute after that, but eventually relented. His arms flopped onto the bed. 

"Yeah, ah… better stick to whinging and complaining 'cause that was a very good argument just then," Cameron said in a throaty voice. 

Through his smile Dennis said: "You have good day. Learn a lot. Do good work. Be safe, and we can take a shower together when you get home." 

"Your plan is much, much better than mine!" 

They chortled together. Then Cameron stood, dressed in his slightly tatty jeans and dark tee-shirt bearing even darker stains in places. He backed up a step while glancing down at the wizard. His booted feet thumped on the floor. 

"God, I'm going to be hard all day thinking 'bout how you look right now. Mmm, you are something, Dennis Creevey!" 

Dennis blushed with happiness. 

"Oh, god. Too much. Too much!" 

His boyfriend whirled on one foot, and stomped away from the bed and out the bedroom. Dennis heard the footfalls thunder down the stairs, then the light jangling of Cameron's toolbelt before the front door opened and closed. The grin on his face grew larger, although he totally understood how Cameron felt. At least, he thought, time enough existed for him to calm down before he headed out for the morning. 

Not more than an hour after Cameron departed, Dennis locked the front door of the flat. He ducked around behind the tenement building so he could magic his way to his first destination. After exchanging some galleons for muggle money at the apparating station, Dennis got breakfast and then decided to do some research on Wollacott Hall. It lay roughly two miles east from Cameron's flat, and buses ran regularly to the park during the day. However, he planed to depart form the archives where he would spend some time researching the manor house. 

It worked out well that the Nottinghamshire Archives only remained open for half a day. At eleven o'clock, Dennis made his way to the bus stop on Castle Boulevard. From there he needed to change buses twice before he arrived close enough to the Wollacott Hall shuttle service. Then another nearly ten minutes took him down Lime Tree Avenue to his destination. All the while he tried to ignore the fact his wand resided in his pocket and made him sit at a strange angle. He arrived at Wollacott Hall with several minutes to spare before the noon tour began. 

"Are we all here?" said a thin, tall middle-aged woman with blue-gray hair. She dressed in a sever-looking dark skirt suite with a cornflower blue blouse under the jacket. Her low-rise pumps clacked as he she walked across the flagstones before the building. "As you could see when you arrived, Wollacott is designed using a prodigy style with some traditional English Gothic features." 

Dennis politely listened to a virtual retelling of everything he learned in the archives. He memorized the actual floor plan and compared it to the map Thomas instructed him to draft. Thomas appeared to retain a very good memory after two-hundred and forty years. However, the ghost of the man could not account for the modifications made after his death. When they entered through the front entrance, Dennis began to worry the additions made in the nineteenth century possibly exposed Thomas' private room. However, he learned the first floor remained mostly intact, as well as the second floor. The curator noted the manor house retained much of its structural style first established in the mid-fifteen hundreds. 

"The seventh, eighth, nineth, and tenth Earls of Nottingham occupied the hall before the title became incorporated with the Earldom of Winchilsea. Since that time, the manor house got donated to the City of Nottingham and became the center for the Natural History Museum because of the surrounding grounds and gardens," the guide explained. 

"Scuse me, miss, but I thought the current earl was the twelfth in line?" A man asked while raising his hand. 

"Excellent question, but it really gets calculated from when you begin counting the seated earls. We generally count from the fifth creation since the house got founded under that earl." 

"Oh, right," the man accepted the answer. 

"Now, from these short flight of steps we will first visit the Salon." 

Dennis hung at the back of the group during the majority of the tour. From the Salon, the group moved to the Study, and then to the Great Hall. The guide explained many of the features and items found distributed throughout. Dennis got to see some of the small paintings of Thomas' grandfather, father, and brother. Not one of the ninth earl existed in the house. Once they trod through, the group went back to the Passage, and then into the West Dining Room. Dennis felt his nerves begin to tighten since he landed in the room he wanted to see most. He fought the urge to pull out the map he drew. Instead, he listened politely as the curator talked about the uses of the room and some of the famous gatherings held there. Little by little Dennis edged closer and closer to the wall most on his mind. 

The wizard hung back in the north corner of the West Dining Room. He stood beside a window and the wall. Dennis slipped his wand out of his pocket and concealed it in his palm and behind his forearm. The guide pointed out a few more features of the room and then announced the group would traverse to the Armoury. Despite wanting to see the Armoury, he straggled behind as the group moved forward. Dennis walked closer to the wall. 

"Subintroeo," he whispered. 

The wall seemed to waver for half a second. Dennis watched the group to make sure no one saw him as he stepped through the wall into a totally lightless room. 

"Duresco," the young wizard mumbled. He could literally hear the wall harden. "Lumos!" 

The end of his wand began to glow and spread an even light throughout the room. Dennis first noticed the dust hanging in the air that he disturbed while entering the room. He turned in a circle and began to take in what he saw. Firstly, the heptagonally-shaped room got lined with shelves, except for one wall where a lectern stood. Atop it a book lay open. Above that hung a picture of a woman. Dennis walked up to it, making sure not to drag his feet, to get a better look. The well-featured woman could be none other than Thomas' mother. A thrill ran through Dennis' body as he realized he stood in the very spot where Lord North, the Earl of Nottingham, practiced his wizardry. It awed him in to muted silence. 

The dust began tickle his nose. Dennis fear he might sneeze and covered his face with the crook of his arm. His brain reached back in time to remember some of the basic housecleaning spells Professor McGonagall taught the Gryffindors when they let the common room get so manky the house elves complained. 

"Evanesco dust!" He said and moved his wand around the room. 

A slight hissing sound reached his ears as the dust on the floors, objects, and shelves created small clouds before turning in on themselves and vanishing. Dennis carefully lowered his arm. Since he often used it in the home of his parents, he knew what to expect. He glanced down at the book. A clearly very old tome, even in the lifetime of Thomas, rested there. Dennis peered at the open pages. Long passages of Latin and what appeared to be ancient Briton got written neat columns. Dennis tried to decipher a few words. He stopped. Strange and unusual tingling began to build in his fingers. He looked down at his hands. 

"Barmy Barnaby, these are spells. Old spells," he quietly said. 

Instead he began to look around at the contents of the room. Each shelf contained either books and scrolls or magical implements. Dennis spied and went the spherical brass astrolabe that looked as if someone polished it the day before. It gleamed from the light of his wand. The wizard looked down small plaque on the base and read it aloud. 

"Touch thy wand to the pedestal. Speak thou distinctly the constellation of thy interest and thy longitude." 

He stood back. Dennis did not know his current longitude nor how to calculate it. After he thought about for half a second, he decided to an experiment. The tip of his wand got pressed to the pedestal holding aloft the sphere. 

"Ursa majoris. Here," he clearly stated. 

Following two seconds of inactivity, the globe inside the web-like filigree of lines and pointer began to spin. It slowed and stopped. The strands of brass also slid about, and the indicator bars shifted around. A prominent finger pointed at a faint tracing of islands of the United Kingdom. Dennis examined as much of the sphere as he could without disturbing it. He recognized the ancient constellation symbols on the bands. That the device still worked impressed Dennis to no end. 

"That is excellent magic," the young wizard said in awe. He loved charms that helped people, and he fully appreciated the amount of labor and skill it took to create the device. "I think I need to get a copy of de Wit's Planisphær Cœleste." 

Dennis turned again. Propped against the lectern, he saw a stick of wood perhaps forty centimeters long standing upright. As he got closer, it became apparent a spot two-thirds of the way down, or up depending on one's perspective, looks shiny and smooth. He reached out with a trembling hand and took hold of it. A faint, very weak, thrum of magic trickled into his hand. It did not take much to divine the item. 

"He used a small stave. How… eighteenth century of him," Dennis half-giggled. 

The assortment of items began to overwhelm Dennis as he realized the living version of Thomas North last occupied the room and used those various implements. He wished he could say he felt something of the man there, but the knowledge of where Thomas actually resided could not be pushed aside. Like a small child, Dennis wanted to examine and touch everything he could find. Caution, however, still his hand. He wisely remembered where he currently stood. One last glance told him it would take a more than a day to examine everything to his satisfaction 

“Just clean the place out,” Dennis told himself. 

He placed Thomas’ stave at the top of book on the lectern to keep it from rolling off. Then he took hold of his own wand. With one hand on the lectern, he visualized the Nottingham apparation station. Dennis made the translocation. Then he jumped to the Ministry station. From there he popped home and into his room. Once the wobbles eased, Dennis tried to move the lectern, and discovered it to be a single piece of carved stone. 

“Makes sense,” he muttered. He aimed his wand at it. “Wingardium leviosa.” 

The book stand gradually rose a few inches off the floor. Dennis directed it to a better position at the foot of his bed. Then he carefully let it settle onto the floor. He stared at it for a moment. 

“What in blazes are you doing home?” His mother loudly asked from the hallway. 

Her voice caught him so unaware the he actually hopped a little. The lights in his room and the hall flared once. He whipped around to face her. 

“Sorry, Love. Didn’t mean to give you a start, but what are you doing here?” She apologized and asked. 

“Mum, come here,” Dennis said and waved her into his room. 

She walked over to him. 

“What in heavens…” 

“It’s from Thomas’ private room at his old manor house, Wollacott Hall! That’s his books of spells, and that’s his wand!” He said to her with tremendous excitement. 

“Dennis Albert Creevey! Are you stealing public treasures?” The woman all but shrieked at her son. 

“Mum, no! Thomas gave this to me. He told me how to get into his private room and said I could have it all!” 

“What is name of god is going on up here?” His father blared as he came up the stairs. “First there’s that thumping noise. Then the telly goes all fritzy, and know you’ve got your mum yelling…” 

“He’s gone thieving, Duncan!” Jill Creevey barked at her husband and pointed at the new object in Dennis’ room. 

“I have not!” Dennis yelled at her. 

“Denny… what the hell are you doing home? I thought you’d gone Nottingham for the weekend?” His father asked after switching gears. 

“I did, and I’m going back to get more,” he gruffly said to his father while casting a stern look at his mother who shot him one right back. 

“You’re, ah, not really stealing anything, are you?” 

Dennis spent three minutes giving his parents the short version of what Thomas and he discussed. He pulled the map he drew from his pocket, and showed them while explaining Thomas told him what to draw. When he tried to tell them no one entered that room since Thomas died, his mother began tutting and threw more disbelieving looks at him. 

“No, I’m not accepting that,” he said to her. 

Dennis stuffed his wand into his front pant pocket, walked up to his parents, and grabbed each by a hand. Without asking or even fully thinking it through, he apparated to the Ministry with his parents in tow. Then he translocated all three of them to Nottingham, and finally to Hogwarts. Duncan and Jill Creevey stumbled and fell before the front gates of the famed school ten seconds after leaving their home. The two heaved and wretched from apparition sickness. His father actually threw up a little. Their son impatiently waited while tapping his foot on the cobblestone road. It took a minute before his parents got their bearings. 

“Good lord. Dennis!” His father yelled at him while swaying on his feet and held out his hand to his wife. “You ever do that again, I will find a way to tan your hide! That was rude, unexpected… Hogwarts?” 

The last time parents visited the school, they came to retrieve Colin’s body. Duncan gaped at the tall turrets of the building. Dennis held out his hand and helped his mother to her feet as she fumbled with Duncan’s now limp hand. She looked equally as furious with her son. 

“No, you don’t get to be mad. You’re the one calling me a thief without even listening to what I was saying,” he grumbled at his mother. “Come on. Follow me!” 

Without waiting to see if they would comply, Dennis went to the front gate and presented his wand. The gate did not budge. Then he remembered. 

“Oh, yeah. These are my parents: Duncan Creevey and Jill Creevey. Their muggles,” he told the gate. 

Seconds later it rattled open. Dennis continued to march up the entrance road. Ten seconds later he heard the gate shut. Although still quite annoyed with his mother’s accusations, he paused and turned his head. His father and mother trailed a few feet behind him. Their faces kept an eye on the enormous stone castle. Dennis resumed the trek. 

Three-quarters of the way to the school, Dennis saw a familiar person wheeling an enormous load of dirt along the road. He and parents came up next to the towering man. 

“Well, Dennis Creevey! What’cha doing here?” Rubeus Hagrid asked in his booming voice. 

“Came to see Thomas North,” Dennis told the friendly half-giant. 

“Who you got witch’ya?” 

“Oh, right. Hagrid, me mum and dad: Jill and Duncan Creevey,” Dennis made the first introduction while Hagrid made a half turn and faced them. He stuck out a hand with a palm nearly as large as a trash bin lid. “Mum, Dad, this is Professor Rubeus Hagrid. He teaches Care of Magical Creatures.” 

Duncan Creevey’s hand disappeared into the grip of the Hagrid who said: “Pleasure to meet you again. We met before, but… you had other worries.” 

“Hello,” father said in an amazed. “You’re the largest person I’ve ever seen.” 

“Me? Hardly. You should meet my brother, Grawp. Now there’s a proper giant… even if he is runt,” Hagrid stated without any seeming sense his presence overwhelmed the two muggles. “I’ve got to say, you’ve got yerself quite a boy here. All the talk right now is ‘bout how he figured out Silent Thom’s killing. Professor Flitwick has been talking him up a treat.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Jill Creevey muttered. 

“Wasn’t an easy task from what I’ve heard. Think you’ll get around to telling me the story yerself, Dennis?” The half-giant inquired. 

“Sure. You can brew up a cauldron of tea and we can make an afternoon out of it,” Dennis agreed. 

“That would be grand,” Hagrid replied through a huge smile partially buried by his shrub-like beard. “Well, I’ve got to be off to the quidditch pitch. Got some fixes to make. Puddlemore United used our field for practicing while theirs is under repair, and now I knows why. Still Keeper of the Keys and Grounds even if I am instructor. Real pleasure seeing you folks again.” 

“Yes, likewise,” Dennis’ mother managed to say in more or less polite fashion. 

They watched as Hagrid moved a wheelbarrow the size of a dump truck bucket heaped with dark, rich soil that smelled vaguely like a manure if one feed a herd of cattle chili peppers. When Hagrid walked far enough away so he resembled a regular-sized person, his parents slowly glanced at him. 

“He’s a half-giant. I’ve told you about him before. Makes a wicked cup of tea that’ll keep you awake for two days when you need to,” Dennis said to them as if saying grass grew on the ground. “Alright, this way.” 

A few small clouds scudded through a sky of brilliant blue. The first day of August arrived warm with a touch of humidity. The upward climb left Dennis parents sweating, and he felt a bit damp as well. When they reached the guard wall of the castle, Dennis led them around it instead of into the school proper. He saw his parents look confused. They knew ghosts inhabited the castle. However, they seemed to forget Thomas never ventured into Hogwarts due to his centuries’ long feud with The Bloody Baron. Dennis led the two to the promontory. 

“Dennis?” A female voice said from no apparent source. 

“One moment, Lucia,” Dennis requested. He turned to his parents. “Here. Come stand next to me. Then sort of face the castle, but move your eyes to the side toward the water. It’s the only way you can see them on a sunny day.” 

Dennis demonstrated what they needed to do. He persisted in asking them to position themselves until he saw the startled expressions on their faces. No one needed to tell him they could see the ghosts. 

“Mum and Dad, I’d like to introduce you to Thomas Lester Jonathan, Lord North and ninth Earl of Nottingham, and his daughter, Missus Lucia Hughes. Both, um, late of Nottingham,” he began the introductions. 

His father bowed a little while his mother did a small curtsy. Then they spent half a minutes aligning themselves so they could see the ghosts again. 

“Lord North, Missus Hughes, this is my mother and father: Jill and Duncan Creevey,” he completed the ritual. 

“A pleasure, sir and madame,” Thomas said and made a bow to them. 

“Yes, indeed, it is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Dennis has become quite dear to us,” Lucia told them. 

“And, please, you need not refer to me as Lord North. Call me Thomas. It is a right earned by your son. Few have done as much for me and my daughter as he,” the spectral noble insisted. 

“Thank you,” Jill said. 

“Uh, yes, thanks,” Duncan muttered. 

“Found your room, Thomas,” Dennis obliquely got straight to the point. “Hadn’t been discovered or touched in all these years. Good spells. Oh, and your book of spells…” 

“Go cautiously with that tome, Dennis. I did not begin to study it myself until halfway through my third decade,” Thomas firmly stated. 

“Sort of already figured that out. It’ll take me a while to figure out.” 

“And do so with ample deliberation and patience.” 

“Dennis, to what do we owe the honor of meeting your parents? I do so wish I could receive them properly,” Lucia inquired with a small self-complaint. 

“What do you want me to do with your stuff in that room, Thomas?” Dennis asked first before his parents could speak. 

“As I told you already: it is yours. I formally bequeathed the contents to you, my friend, as witnessed by Lucia. After all, what remains in that room belongs in the hands of a wizard. I can think of no better hands than yours,” Thomas asserted and tilted his nearly invisible head in Dennis’ direction. 

“Thank you, Lord North,” Dennis said and bowed. 

“Desist with such flattery, Dennis,” the nobleman bade him with a chuckle. 

“Excuse me, Lord… Thomas, but shouldn’t those things go to a museum?” Dennis’ father inquired. 

“I was thinking the same thing,” his mother intoned. 

“Ah, I see,” Thomas said in a knowing manner. “And what museum would house the objects from my meditatio locus? Many of those items are highly magical and require a trained witch or wizard to handle with appropriate care.” 

“Sir, Dennis is just a lad,” Jill Creevey said with obvious concern. 

“You are as commendable a mother as one could wish, but I would hazard a guess you fail to recognize your son is a fully trained wizard. The education offered here is superior in many respects. Moreover, Dennis sought out further education and guidance on his own initiative. That, to me, speaks of one who takes seriously the craft we both enjoy. I can think of no better hands than Dennis’ in which to entrust the tools of my earthbound practice in magic.” 

In true Thomas North fashion, he spoke with utter authority that left Dennis believing every word without question. He watched as his parents sorted through the statements to gain a full understanding. Sometimes it took effort to glean a complete comprehension. 

“Missus Creevey,” Thomas began again. “Beside me stands but one of my daughters, whom I love and cherish greater than life itself.” 

“He is the finest of father’s,” Lucia complimented her father. 

“As I said to Dennis not but two days previously, I would have been most fortunate to be graced with a son as honorable and noble as he. In this I make him the inheritor of what small estate I can pass on. It is a pittance of the thanks which I owe him.” 

“You don’t owe me anything, Thomas. You were nice to me during some bad days. I was just returning the favor,” Dennis replied and again tried to brush aside the estimation. 

“Duncan and Jill Creevey, I am indebted to your parenting of such a fine person. While he endured much during his final years here, Dennis did not bow or become corrupted by ill treatment. I can only assume the fortitude and strength of character he displays is the product of the home and life you bestowed upon him,” said Thomas, and again he made a small bow to them. 

Dennis got the rare treat of watching his parents’ faces go flush. 

“In the words of the great bard: I do not damn thee with faint praise.” 

“You’re too kind, L… Thomas,” Dennis’ mother quietly stated. “He thinks very highly of you as well. He’d get quite upset thinking about what happened to you. Helping you became something of a mission for him.” 

“Dennis dedicated himself to it,” his father added. 

“And can you now see why I chose to make the contents of my private study a gift to him? Can you think of anyone more worthwhile?” 

“I’m going to puke,” Dennis half-moaned. 

“Have you taken ill, Dennis?” Lucia queried with real concern. 

“No, it’s all this treacle being poured all over me. I didn’t do anything heroic or noble or grand or whatever else you want to call it. I just helped a friend who really needed help. I never suffered half of what Thomas did, and I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. So… stop all this stuff you’re saying ‘bout me,” Dennis half-railed at the small audience. “I brought my mum and dad here to meet you so you could tell them I wasn’t stealing your stuff.” 

“Aye, we did think he was being light-fingered when he shouldn’t,” Jill Creevey confessed. 

“An understandable misapprehension, and I am grateful you made it.” 

The two mortal parents goggled at the ghost. 

“It afforded me and my daughter the opportunity to meet you and extend our thanks to you,” the deceased earl again said. “And, if I may, extend my sincere condolences for the loss of his brother. It is only of late that I begin to see shroud of sorrow begin to lift from his eyes. Dennis truly loved Colin, and in this I can only think he reflected the same affection and love you held for your son.” 

“Thank you, sir, for your kind words,” Dennis’ mother softly rejoined. 

“Colin was a good boy. A bit full of himself at times, but a good one. Thank you, Thomas,” Mr. Creevey also quietly intoned. 

“Although this may bring scant comfort, and this has been said to Dennis over the years, but Colin went to his rest without fear or doubt of how he lived his life. He lingers not as a specter among those of us here. Only a satisfied soul may pass that freely to the beyond. In this I believe he has you to thank.” 

To a person tears rolled down the faces of the Creevey’s, yet Dennis also smiled. He could scarcely think of a way to explain to Thomas the gift he just gave his parents. Hearing it from a man who lived and died as Thomas bore greater weight than the words of young son who sometimes lashed out in his grief. Although not seismic by any standard, Dennis did see the subtle impact Thomas’ statements imparted on his parents. The looked solemnly at Lord North and bobbed their heads a few times. 

The quintet standing on the cliff overlooking the loch did not say much more to one another. The adults, some far older than others, again express the gratitude at meeting one another. Dennis enjoyed watching his parents gradually relax as they spoke to the late lord and his daughter. Ghosts did not factor into their daily lives. Before they left, Dennis got to point out the giant squid that saved him when he first arrived Hogwarts. Then, Thomas extracted a promise from Dennis to return with a catalog of items retrieved from the secret room at Wollacott Hall. The benefit of unexpectedly visiting Thomas and Lucia exceeded any expectation he held. 

Dennis took time returning his parents to St. Alban’s in order to minimize the apparation queasiness. When they arrived in the living room of the house, his parents dove for their recliners. They sat and drank in air. 

“Honestly, Dennis, what a horrid way to travel,” his mother chided him. 

"Still safer than flying, Mum, and flying is safer than driving," he informed her of the supposed fact people touted at Hogwarts during his school years. 

"Like traveling at the speed of light," his father rumbled. 

"Not quite," Dennis quietly refuted. 

"Well, that Lord North seems fond of you. You've done a good thing there, Dennis. Truly, you have," his mother complimented him. 

"Aye, son. You have. It was nice meeting him after hearing all him about these past two months. Funny how they disappear in the sun," his father added. 

"I think a lot of has to do with not a lot of them not being there." 

His parents smirked at him. 

"So, now that you know I not nicking his stuff, I'm going to get more," Dennis told them. "I'll still be staying at Cam's tonight, so you can look at everything, but I wouldn't suggest you touch anything." 

"Heavens, no! We'll just leave it right where it sets 'til you get back," Jill agreed with her son. "Is it safe to have here?" 

"Sat for two-hundred and thirty-nine years at Wollacott without anything happening, so I think it's safe." 

His parents glanced at him and then at each other. 

"Oh, come off it. You know I wouldn't bring anything really dangerous here," he reacted to their reactions. 

"What about your coveralls?" His mother quipped. "They tried to bite me more than once." 

"Mum, that's like saying you're being savaged by a blancmange!" 

His father started laughing. 

"You're doing the laundry from now on, Duncan," she grumbled. 

His father stopped laughing 

"All right, you're going to hear stuff popping into my room. Only brought the pedestal and spellbook back myself so I could get a look at the space. If there's time, I stop back in 'fore Cam gets back," Dennis spoke his plans aloud. "And if you think something is acting… hinky in my room, use the chalkboard. I'll check it before Cam and me head for dinner and pool, and then when I get back." 

"Your English is atrocious," his mother griped. 

Her comment told Dennis she did not worry. With that, he raised a hand in farewell, and then twisted out of sight through the magical nether. After several jumps, Dennis arrived back in the small room at Wollacott Hall. 

"Luminos," he said and looked around. "Light is problem." 

Seconds later he emerged in his boyfriend's flat. He went digging through the recyclable trash until he found a glass jar with a lid. After washing it out and using paper towels to dry it, Dennis returned to the Thomas' study. During his first year at Hogwarts, Hermione learned how to make faery lights in a jar. It became the rage throughout the school until the whole of Hogwarts glowed like an angler fish's lure on dark nights. Thus, Dennis dredged up the old memories and created a powerful lamp. 

The young man and very able wizard stood in the middle of the heptagonal room. It seemed wisest to begin with the most durable objects. He made three small stacks from the books and translocated the lot to his room just in front of the lectern. He did the same with the scrolls Dennis searched for apparatus that did not appear reactive to magic, such as scales and vials. Those got shipped to St. Alban's. Within an hour he completely stripped the study and sent the items to his bedroom. Dennis hoped he spaced everything correctly to keep from damaging any of the priceless, at least to him, artifacts from the life of Lord Thomas North. Then he made one last search of the study. The wizard overlooked nothing. Finally, he sent the picture of Thomas' mother to his room to the one space he left intentionally clear. He would ask Thomas at a later time what he would like done with the portrait. Dennis let out a small sigh. 

"No one will ever know a wizard practiced here," he told the empty space, and it left him feeling a little sad since so much of Thomas' life did not get recorded. It gave him an idea for a future time. 

Dennis disapparated to Cameron's flat. He looked around for a moment. Then he apparated back to Wollacott. Moments later, Dennis returned to the flat. In his hand he carried the tour literature and jar of faery lights. He dispelled the lights and returned the jar to the recyclable bin. Once he stashed his wand at the bottom of his backpack, he flopped onto Cameron's sofa and began reading the so-called official history of Wollacott Hall and grounds. The small booklet proved informative from a muggle perspective, but it seemed woefully lacking from his. Ideas started to percolate in his head regarding the last recently discovered possessions of the late ninth Earl of Nottingham. 

For a second time that day a pair of lips startled him awake. For a second time that day, the lights flickered in the flat. Dennis came around and looked into the smiling face of Cameron. He started smiling in return. Cameron kissed him again. 

"Boring day?" His boyfriend asked. 

"Not really. Did some more research at the archives before going to Wollacott. It's actually a pretty interesting place," Dennis said as the sleep fog lifted from his brain. 

"Jeannie's said this to me ten times, and I agree with her: we need to get you into a uni. You're too smart not to go," Cameron said in a firm tone. 

"Just 'cause I enjoyed the investigation…" 

"Okay, so maybe Wollacott Hall is kind of related to the killing of the earl, but… you went back just to see it. And you probably read up on it first," his boyfriend interjected and pinned him with a look. "You did, didn't you?" 

Dennis' cheeks turned a little red as he looked away. 

"Wanker," Cameron laughed at him. 

"Tosser," Dennis shot back. 

The chuckled at each other. 

"Why are you afraid of being smart, Denny?" The dark, sultry young man asked. 

"Not afraid. I just… see, at my school it was more about what you could do with what you learned than actually just knowing it," Dennis tried to explain. "Once I came out, lot of them thought all I was just going to focus on that: being gay. I had to go to gh… other teachers to really learn and show what I could do. Did okay in my final exams. So, for me it's not just what I know, but what I can do with it. Does that make any sense?" 

Cameron gradually nudged Dennis aside with his hip until Dennis lay on his side and gave Cameron room to sit. 

"Private schools sound like hell, and I think I get what you're saying. But if you got to a university, what you know will be important. It's like what I did today I couldn’t've done without everything I learned in the past three years, so I get there's a difference between learning and doing." 

"So, it went well today?" Dennis asked, and privately felt glad he got to shift the topic. 

"Lot of work. Just attaching one pipe after another, checking for leaks, making sure the run angles were correct, anchoring pipes to wall studs so they don't knock," Cameron told him. "Did you know loose hot water pipes are the main reason people believe in spooks and ghosts?" 

"Really?" The wizard asked and raised his eyebrows. 

"Yeah, when hot water first starts to run through a pipe, 'specially metal ones, it can vibrate from the heat and pressure. It knocks against the wall from the inside if it's not anchored properly. Then it does the same thing when it starts to cool. And, this is what really gets people going, if there's air in the line, it sounds like whispering or a growling sound. Freaks people out, and they think it's ghosts," Dennis boyfriend said with absolute conviction. 

"And bad plumbing is why people see ghosts?" 

"I don't know about that, but people will see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe." 

"I guess," Dennis less than enthusiastically agreed. 

"Hold on. Are you saying you believe in ghosts, Denny?" Cameron asked. 

Dennis nodded. 

"Seen 'em have you?" 

"Yeah. There were a bunch at my school," Dennis freely stated. "Some were from a long time ago. You could tell from their clothing. A few were kind of new. There were young ones, old ones… sort of like the people you'd find in any school." 

"Seriously? You saw these?" His boyfriend inquired with naked incredulity. 

"All the time." 

"Wasn't just some blokes having one over on you?" 

"Nope. These were real, honest-to-goodness ghosts. Didn't hurt anyone… well, 'cept for this one really old ghost who liked to throw stuff around," the wizard hiding in plain sight said as he thought of his friend, Peeves the Poltergeist. "Even he wasn't as bad as you'd think." 

Cameron gaped at him. 

"I'm not making this up, Cam. Didn't take long to just get used to them. After a couple of years, it became normal. Truth is, I sort of liked having 'em around. Sometimes I'd go sit somewhere by myself to think or read, and sometimes one of the ghosts would happen by and kind of hang out for a while. Not great at conversations, but… it's like they didn't want people to feel alone." 

"Good god, I've got a nutter for a boyfriend," Cameron snickered at him. 

"Well, tell you what: I'll try to get permission to take you to the school, and then show you. After you wet on yourself, I want to see if you still think I'm a nutter," Dennis challenged. 

"Eh, doesn't matter. I'd still take you over most blokes even if you were stark raving. You're too cute and nice to pass up." 

"Yeah, you got that going for you, too," he replied to smile face. "Want to hear something kind of weird?" 

"After all this ghost stuff, why not?" Cameron said and did sound entirely mocking. 

"After Colin died, I looked for him. Thought he might be one, but I never saw him. Someone told me if he didn't turn up as a ghost, then it meant Colin was satisfied with his life… didn't have anything left over to do. It's weird because hearing that sort of made me feel a little better." 

"It's not weird, Denny. Maybe not weirder than going to a school with ghosts in it, but I get what you're saying. You loved him and he was your best mate, so course you'd got looking for him," his boyfriend quietly said. "I also think it means your head is bolted on tight 'cause of how it made you feel. You were accepting he died." 

"Yeah, that makes sense. Thanks," Dennis said and meant it. 

"Now, what about that promise you made to me this morning?" 

"Which one?" 

"The one about getting cleaned up 'fore we head out?" Cameron reminded him. 

"Oh, that one," Dennis replied and sat up. He climbed over Cameron, and then grabbed his hand. He pulled the young man to his feet. "I can more than live up to that one!" 


End file.
